Ominous
by Angelfirenze
Summary: Bobby Goren and Harry Potter are each known for being the odd ones out. What happens when their lives and the ones of those closest to them mesh in the most unexpected way? CI Year 4Harry Potter Year 6 AU crossover. COMPLETE.
1. Post Mortem, Pre Waking

**Ominous**

_By Angelfirenze_

**Disclaimer: **Dick Wolf and J.K. Rowling own damned near everything and everyone. It is pointless to attempt to sue me. You will get nothing, as I am merely a LO:CI and HP loving college student. Anyone you don't recognize belongs to me. There are always lyrics somewhere in all of my stories. They probably will come from Incubus, Radiohead, Straylight Run, Thursday, and My Chemical Romance, just to name a few. Also, I should say that bcavis's fic, 'The Art of Being a Kept Woman,' inspired the title. It's my most favorite of hers. ::bright grin::

**Summary:** "Uh, no. I-I went to bed in my boxer shorts...I woke up in the...the hotel across the street. I-I need some clothes. I'm a police detective and I live in New York. In Brooklyn. I need to get back there so I can go to work."

**Pairings: **Bobby/Alex, as it's only the summertime and no students are there. O.W.L results haven't even gone out yet!

**Timeline:** Post-'Collective' since that's the last one we've seen...damned NBC...pouts I know 'Collective' probably takes place during a winter month, but let's pretend it didn't, okay?

**A/N: **I know the movies are better considered entities to themselves, but I do love the uniforms. So let's pretend Bobby's robes came with other stuff.

Part I: Post-Mortem, Pre-Waking

* * *

Well I'm a total wreck and almost every day.  
Like the firing squad or the mess you made.  
Well don't I look pretty walking down the street.  
In the best damn dress I own?

* * *

Bobby Goren went to bed Thursday evening thinking this was the first time he'd been tired enough to sleep this early in forever. It had been an...interesting case he and Alex had been working. People so obsessed over the universe captured in a book that their entire lives revolved around it. He rolled over onto his side, stealing one last glance at his alarm clock before sleep mercifully took him. _11:27..._

It was the earliest he'd been to bed in years.

9:02 am  
Hogsmeade, Scotland  
Around the back of the Hog's Head Pub

Aberforth Dumbledore carried a stack of butterbeer crates out of the back of his pub, intending to stack them against the wall in his back alley. It was a bright and sunny day, but he hadn't been able to tell from inside the Hog's Head, grimy as the windows were with dirt. So when he went outside, he was so busy shielding his eyes against the offending sunlight that he didn't immediately see the body of a young witch lying in the dying grass. Once he'd deposited the crates on the ground, he turned around was met with the sight of her body. Her eyes were frozen wide in terror, as though she'd had the Killing Curse performed on her. At first, Aberforth thought that was what happened. That was before he noticed her throat was cut. Turning to run inside, Aberforth sent an owl up to his brother at Hogwarts, telling him what had happened.

8:30 am  
Hogmeade, Scotland  
Three Broomsticks Pub

Bobby Goren's eyes snapped open, as they usually did, and he was dismayed to find sunlight shining down on his face. He usually awoke too early for this to be a problem—wait, what time was it? Why didn't his alarm go off? Then he remembered he'd forgotten to set it, he was so tired. Captain Deakins was going to have his head. He sat up and looked around his bedroom. Except that it wasn't his bedroom. He didn't know where he was at all. He was still exhausted. He looked at his watch, still on his wrist after he'd left it on before collapsing into bed the night before.

_11:34 pm? But that means I've only been asleep for _seven_ minutes!_

Bobby sighed. _Well, whatever it means, obviously I'm not tired anymore..._ Slowly he extracted himself from what he noted to be a full-size feather bed and walked downstairs. His back was a little sore. He felt as though he'd hit the ground or something. There was no one in the main room, so he went outside to attempt to get his bearings. He thought about calling Alex, but decided against it, thinking that if he couldn't figure this out on his own he'd ask her help. In the meantime, he'd look around what he determined must be a neighborhood of some kind. However, after a few seconds it was obvious he wasn't in Brooklyn anymore. For one thing, the complete absence of car exhaust in the air—or cars in general—threw him off a bit. So he wasn't even in New York City.

_Great._

He saw a store a few feet away called Madame Malkins' Robes for All-Occasions. Seeing as he was almost completely naked, he was bound to offend someone eventually. Sighing again, he crossed over and entered the shop, finding this morning to be an experience a little like the video for 'There, There' by Radiohead, where Thom Yorke went peeking all around a forest to find animals engaged in rather human situations and—_concentrate, you moron!_ He chastised himself, forcing his eyes to focus on the shop. A little bell had tinkered somewhere inside and a middle-aged woman in a dress of a velour-like fabric came bustling out of the back of the shop carrying an armload of boxes. Bobby's first inclination was to offer to help her, but then he remembered he was dressed only in dark blue boxer shorts. Blushing deeply, he attempted to make his six foot, four inch frame smaller so as not to attract her attention.

"Merlin's beard," the woman breathed, setting down the boxes and turning back around to see him. "Where on earth did you come from dressed in nothing but your underpants?"

So he was in Scotland. _Great._

"Uh, um—I woke up and—"

"An American, eh? What? Did one of your neighbors play a trick on you, then? Stole your clothes?"

"Uh, no. I-I went to bed in my boxer shorts...I woke up in the...the hotel across the street. I-I need some clothes. I'm a police detective and I live in New York. In Brooklyn. I need to get back there so I can go to work."

"So you went to bed in America and woke up in The Three Broomsticks, eh? Have you ever Apparated before?"

"Uh, no...e-excuse me, what?" Bobby felt his face crinkle in confusion.

Then the woman really examined him. "You really don't know what you're doing here, do you?"

"No, I need some clothes. I'd pay you, but I think my wallet is in my apartment and—"

But the woman turned away from him and started going through boxes on the shelves. "Don't you worry about that. You can pay me later. You need to see Professor Dumbledore first."

And the woman came over with a long dark blue robe and a stool. She told Bobby to stand on the stool and had him put the robe on before starting to pin it to the right length. "To match your boxer shorts," She grinned and Bobby blushed again.

When she was finished a moment later, she handed him a crisp white shirt, a pair of dark blue pants, and a dark blue necktie.

"Here are some trousers and a shirt and necktie for you to put on in the backroom there. You'd do well to get some socks and shoes, as well."

"T-thank you, Madam Malkins," Bobby mumbled, doing as she asked and going to get dressed in the back. When he returned, Madam Malkins was gone from her shop. Remembering how she'd said he could pay her later, Bobby walked out of the shop and immediately noticed a commotion coming from a pub down the road with a sign hanging above it that had a hog's head _dripping_ blood onto a plate and checked tablecloth. The sign was really moving as though...it was alive. Bobby pulled his attention back to the crowd gathered around the doorway where an old man with an apron, presumably the barkeep, was telling men in matching black cloaks with a golden 'M' embroidered on their front right breast pockets that he'd found the girl while putting butterbeer crates out in the back.

Bobby's eyes closed for a brief moment before he walked up to the man talking. His long grey beard had tiny wood chips in it, which Bobby knew would be from the crates he'd been carrying. He wanted to go see the body, but he knew that would be inappropriate.

"She's just a young one...only been out of Hogwarts a year." The old man was very saddened. "But it wasn't the Killing Curse. Her throat was cut open."

The two wizards in the uniform cloaks both looked confused.

"Her throat was slit?" One of them asked in a thick Scottish accent. "It wasn't done with magic?"

"No, no. You-Know-Who wasn't the one that did it. And not the Death Eaters. They'd've tortured her first. We would've all heard her screaming."

_You-Know-Who? Death Eaters?_ Bobby filed all this information away in his head and walked up to the police officer-like men and asked, "Uh, excuse me. I'm sorry to interrupt. I-I know this is a murder investigation, but I was wondering where exactly this Hogwarts that the victim graduated from is?"

Both the men in uniforms gave Bobby funny looks. "Just up the road, there, sir. Everyone knows that and you should, too. Now if you'd kindly leave..."

"Right, right. Sorry," Bobby apologized again before turning around and walking quickly in the direction the wizard pointed. He'd been walking for about ten minutes before he turned a corner and came across an enormous castle, with wrought-iron gates bearing winged boars at their top ends. The gates were open, as though beckoning him forward. Slowly, he walked up to the front door and knocked.

He received no answer. Sighing again, Bobby turned around and started walking back up the drive when he heard the doors of the castle swing open.

"Who're you?" A harsh voice asked and Bobby turned back around to see a rather repulsive man with staring, accusatory eyes glaring at him. At the man's feet stood a cat whose coat immediately brought to Bobby's mind the dust bunnies under one of his foster mothers' sofas. The man was brandishing a broomstick at him as though he were a stray dog.

"U-uh, my name is Detective Robert Goren from the New York City Police Department in the Major Case Squad and a woman in the village, Madam Malkins, recommended that I see a Professor Dumbledore. I-I went to sleep last night and woke up here and I—"

"Come on, then," the man growled, grabbing his arm and yanking him into the enormous Entrance Hall. "Madam Malkins recommended you, eh?"

"Y-yes, er...you know, there's a dead body down in the village and—"

"It's no concern of yours," the man snarled, turning quickly to glare. "Your only concern is gettin' back wherever you came from."

Bobby quickly discovered he really didn't like this guy, whoever the hell he was.

"Um, what's your name?"

The man glared at him again. "Argus Filch, not that it's any of your business."

Filch stayed quiet until he'd pulled Bobby up what he counted as five flights of stairs, past hundreds upon hundreds of paintings, all of which were moving the same way the sign in the village had. All the paintings were watching very closely, moving through each other's frames to follow his progress to wherever this disagreeable Filch man was taking him. They apparently found Bobby even more fascinating than he found them.

Suddenly, he was brought to a halt as Filch stopped in front of what appeared to be an office door. Bobby, of course, was bigger than he was so he was nearly knocked to the ground.

"Geroff, geroff!" Filch complained, shoving Bobby backward. "Aye, it's times like this I wish I could just curse people left and right!"

Standing straight again, Filch threw Bobby one more glare for good measure and knocked on the door before them.

"Yes?" an older woman's voice called from within.

"It's Filch, Professor McGonagall. I've got a stranger out here sayin' that Madam Malkins told him to come see Professor Dumbledore."

There was silence for a few seconds before a severe looking woman with brown hair and green eyes behind wire-framed spectacles came out into the hallway.

"Found him at the front entrance, Professor," Filch was saying. "He just knocked. Said he's from New York—"

"Mr. Filch, I would think you knew better than to simply let strangers, tourists into the castle?" She peered down her glasses at him and Bobby felt a tiny pang of amusement.

"Um, Professor," he said, glancing down at her. "Uh, my name is Detective Robert Goren. Bobby. I-I met Madam Malkins down in the village and she said I should come here. I-I only just went to bed in Brooklyn, New York and then woke up seven minutes later in what she said was The Three Broomsticks in my boxer shorts. She asked me had I ever Apparated before, but I have no idea what that means. She said I could pay her back for these robes eventually, but to come see Professor Dumbledore first. And I was going to ask her where it was, but she was gone when I came back from getting dressed. I-I went outside and walked over to what I later learned was The Hog's Head. Apparently, the proprietor found a dead girl with a slit throat behind his pub. I wanted to go see the body, because that's what I do in New York. I solve murder cases like that one, but I don't have jurisdiction here. I'm an American police detective who woke up halfway around the world. I didn't even know where I was until Madam Malkins told me—"

That was when Professor McGonagall put a hand up to stop him talking. "Breathe, Detective Goren."

"Bobby," he said, smiling slightly and she frowned a little.

"Detective Goren, let me see if I have this correctly. You went to bed mere minutes ago in New York in the United States and woke up in the Three Broomsticks in your boxer shorts. You don't know what Apparition is and there is a dead girl's body down in the village of Hogsmeade that the proprietor found while you were changing into robes that Madam Malkins gave you because you weren't properly dressed."

"Yes, Professor."

"And she told you to come see Professor Dumbledore?"

"Yes."

"Have you ever been to a wizarding school, Detective Goren?"

"I didn't know there were schools for wizarding...ah, magic. I didn't know there were schools for magic."

Professor McGonagall frowned and turned, beginning to walk. "Come with me, if you please, Detective."

Bobby sighed and began walking.

* * *

Well I hope I'm not mistaken by the news I heard from waking  
and it's hard to say I'm shaken, by the choices that I make  
and well I find it hard to stay, with the words you say  
Oh baby let me in  
Well I'll choose this life I've taken, never mind the friends I'm making  
And I get a little shaken, because I live my life like this  
And well I find it hard to stay, with the words you say  
Oh baby let me in  
And you can cry all you want to, I don't care how much...

* * *


	2. Explanations and Exploration

**Ominous  
**_By Angelfirenze_

**Disclaimer: **Dick Wolf and J.K. Rowling own damned near everything and everyone. It is pointless to attempt to sue me. You will get nothing, as I am merely a L&O:CI and HP loving college student. Anyone you don't recognize belongs to me. There are always lyrics somewhere in all of my stories. They probably will come from Incubus, Radiohead, Straylight Run, Thursday, and My Chemical Romance, just to name a few. Also, I should say that Beka's fic, 'The Art of Being a Kept Woman,' inspired the title. It's my most favorite of hers. And, lastly, there's a line in here inspired by 'The Energy of Nothing' by Mel, which I'm sure you'll all recognize.

**Summary:** ...I'm certain that, from what Detective Goren told you, you must think there is some sort of hoax being orchestrated, but I assure you that he is not lying and hasn't gone mad, as he said you might think._..  
_

**Pairings: **Bobby/Alex, as it's only the summertime and no students are there. O.W.L results haven't even gone out yet!

**Timeline:** Post-'Collective' since that's the last one we've seen...damned NBC...pouts I know 'Collective' probably takes place during a winter month, but let's pretend it didn't, okay?

**A/N: **I know the movies are better considered entities all to themselves, but I do love the uniforms, particularly circa PoA. So let's pretend Bobby's robes came with other stuff. Also, I don't actually know where Alex's apartment is, so I'm winging it.

Part II: Explanations and Exploration 

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  
Hogsmeade, Scotland  
10:05 am

* * *

Someone, somewhere said some things  
That may have sparked some sympathy, but don't believe  
Don't believe a word you've heard about me  
Don't be so scared  
It's harder for me

* * *

Bobby followed Professor McGonagall up through the castle, noting that he was distinctly uncomfortable with the way Filch kept glaring at him as though he was going to whip out his service piece and shoot him with it. Bobby rolled his eyes and sped up, keeping pace with Professor McGonagall since he figured he'd probably be here long enough to get a good look around later if not now. He hoped Captain Deakins wouldn't kill him when he showed up several hours—or days—late for work. Yawning, he covered his mouth. 

"Have you slept at all, Detective?" Professor McGonagall asked, glancing at him.

"Seven minutes or so, I think," He looked at his watch. "It's only 1:05 am where I came from. But it's no big deal. I don't sleep very often anyway."

Professor McGonagall frowned again and started walking faster. "That's unacceptable."

Bobby didn't say anything. He just kept walking.

"I assume you heard me, Detective Goren?" Professor McGonagall said, catching Bobby off-guard.

Bobby bit his lip and watched the tight bun on her head bob slightly with her movements. "I didn't know you wanted me to answer. I apologize, Professor. Yes, I suppose it is unacceptable. But...I-I _can't_ sleep very much. I've had insomnia for most of my life. I was actually surprised when I fell asleep so early last night. Of course, I wasn't nearly as surprised as when I woke up 3,000 miles away in a strange bed."

He didn't add that whenever he managed to fall asleep, he had nightmares that woke him up and kept him up for however long it was until his alarm went off.

"Well, after we talk to Professor Dumbledore, I think Madam Pomfrey could give you some Dreamless Sleep potion to help with that."

_What is she, a mind reader?_ He thought as they came to a large oak door with a gargoyle in front of it.

"Password?" The gargoyle asked and Professor McGonagall said, "Sugar quill."

The gargoyle sprang aside and a door opened to reveal a staircase spiraling smoothly upward like an escalator at a mall.

"I feel like I'm at some shopping center," Bobby muttered, following Professor McGonagall onto the escalator. Filch, thankfully, didn't follow.

"What was that, Detective?" Professor McGonagall asked from two steps in front of him.

"It's not important, Professor," Bobby said as they came to another room, a circular room filled with all sorts of interesting contraptions and apparatuses. Bobby felt his arm extend toward one of the shelves, but he pulled it back. Confined to his small piece of personal space, Bobby began to fidget, wanting very much to go touch and examine the objects, but...he couldn't.

"Detective Goren, _surely_ you can control yourself?" Professor McGonagall's voice was severe and sounded rather like ADA Carver's when he was annoyed with Bobby.

"Minerva, why shouldn't Detective Goren exercise his curiosity? So many adults lose theirs, after all? It's quite refreshing." A man with a long white beard who greatly resembled the barkeep from The Hog's Head came down another set of steps from above. He was resplendent in robes of deep purple with silver stars embroidered into them.

Grinning widely, Bobby strode over to the first thing in sight and picked it up, turning it in every direction. The paintings on the walls snickered and Professor McGonagall was wide-eyed with shock. This grown man was playing with Professor Dumbledore's things as though they were in a toy shop! It was preposterous.

"Now, Detective Goren, Madame Malkins owled me about an hour ago before our unfortunate discovery behind the Hog's Head pub—"

Bobby turned to face him, the strange item still whirring away in his hand. He extended his right and shook Professor Dumbledore's hand before carefully placing the...thing he was playing with back on its spindly table.

"Ah, yes, er..."

"What happened last night, Bobby," Dumbledore asked, making him smile. Professor McGonagall had plainly refused to call him anything but Detective Goren. It was _refreshing_.

"Well, I went to bed last night...seven minutes later I woke up in The Three Broomsticks. I went across the road to Madam Malkins and she gave me some robes because I was only wearing my boxers. She said I could pay her back for them some other time. She said the most important thing was to talk to you. She'd asked me if I knew what Apparition was. I told her no."

Dumbledore's white brow furrowed, "So she sent you here?"

"Yes, but before I could talk to her again, she left. I'd been getting dressed and she'd left. I went outside to find people gathered around The Hog's Head pub and—and are you related to the proprietor there, because the two of you look alike—"

"He is my brother, Aberforth," Dumbledore confirmed and Bobby smiled.

"Well, he was describing the body of a young girl he found behind his pub this morning when he was putting out some butterbeer crates. He was telling the truth because there were bits of wood stuck in his beard."

Dumbledore smiled sadly.

"And I wanted to go look at the body, because that's what I do at home in New York. I solve murder cases. That's my job at the New York Police Department. I work in the Major Case Squad with my partner, Alexandra Eames." Goren knew he was explaining it badly, but he didn't know what he could assume these people knew--they seemed to think he ought to know a lot of things that he didn't. "Um, I was wondering how it is I got here and how I could get home. I have to go to work in—" Goren looked at his watch. "Nine hours and five minutes so—"

"I'm afraid, Bobby, that I can't let you go home just yet," Professor Dumbledore said and Bobby felt his mouth drop open.

"Why not? I have to go to work in the morning."

"As much as you love your job, Bobby, I have to wonder why you were never informed that you were a wizard."

"What? No, I'm not..." He paused, looking shrewdly at Professor Dumbledore. "How do you know?"

"This castle, for instance. If you weren't a wizard, there isn't any way you would've been able to walk through those doors. Or, rather, you wouldn't have wanted to."

"Why not?"

"Because, Detective Goren, this entire castle is charmed so that any Muggle who comes across it will believe they are simply looking at an old, falling down building. You see a castle. You are a wizard."

Bobby felt the breath forcefully expelled from his chest. All he could think was...

_Wow._

* * *

Thus  
Escape takes lead  
into a world unknown uncontrolled by all  
where border are erased and potential infinite  
Chosen cells glands and transmittors  
blast the body with joy  
Astral feet running  
up to dimension covered with gold  
stairs of glowing ectoplasma  
sapphire onyx and buzzing vibrations  
A dead man banquet  
food for the gods

* * *

Alexandra Eames' Apartment  
Manhattan, New York  
1:45 am 

Alex was getting ready to turn in for the night, having turned off the tape of the CSI episode she'd been forced, as usual, to record. Grumbling under her breath about cases and vacation time she should've taken years ago, she was passing her fireplace when suddenly it burst into flames and her partner's head appeared in the middle of it.

_Okay, I was _not _drinking tonight...What the hell?"_

"Uh, Bobby...may I ask why your _head_ is sitting in the middle of my suddenly lit fireplace?"

"Um...well, actually, Alex, I feel very sick. I figure I better get all this out before I vomit."

Alex Eames, clad in merely pajamas, stared at the (admittedly gorgeous) head of her partner and best friend, Bobby Goren, as it floated in her fireplace with flames dancing all around his ears. He was talking to her now, explaining how he'd gone to bed at eleven twenty-seven, only to wake up seven minutes later in an inn halfway around the world.

"So you're in England, right now?"

"No, not England. Scotland. Hogsmeade, Scotland, at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I've been here for about an hour. And, actually, there's a dead girl down in the village. The headmaster's brother found her this morning when he was putting out butterbeer crates—"

"Butterbeer?" Alex asked, cutting him off and Bobby smiled a little.

"Yeah, I had some a few minutes ago because the Deputy Headmistress, Professor McGonagall asked me when the last time I ate was and I said yesterday morning—"

"I hope she gave you a swift kick in the ass, like I want to," Alex said, becoming quite annoyed.

"Um, no, she didn't. Although, with the way she keeps glaring at me, I think I prefer the kick."

"Good," Alex said, giving him her own glare for good measure. "So there's a dead girl in the village..."

"Yeah, and apparently, since I can see the castle itself—uh, the school is located in a huge castle—I'm a wizard, too—"

"Whoa, wait," Alex dropped the book she was holding, where it lay on the floor, forgotten. "You're a _wizard?_"

"Yeah, I didn't believe them either, but Professor Dumbledore—he's the headmaster—gave me a copy of this book called, Hogwarts, A History. I've been reading it and there are all sorts of wards on all the magical schools—because there's at least one in every country or region—that make it impossible for Muggles—that's what they call nonmagical people—to see the schools and come snooping around. Like with Hogwarts, Muggles see a huge, dilapidated old teardown. It's really fascinating, actually. The headmaster said I could contact you since you're my partner and my best friend. They'd arrange for you to stay here with me. They'd also like to talk to Deakins if it's possible."

Alex wasn't understanding. "Wait, Bobby, no. How do you know these people are telling the truth? They could just be lying to set you up. Nicole could be behind this."

"Yeah, I thought of that, but none of it fits. For one thing, none of them have ever heard of Nicole Wallace or anyone involved with her. Plus, hey, Alex, the pictures—the pictures and paintings and stuff all _move_ here! It's like watching television, only miles more interesting."

That cinched it. Alexandra Eames sighed shakily, now firmly convinced that her partner had finally gone off his nut. _He's crazy._

"I'm not crazy, Alex. Look, turn around. Professor Dumbledore said he was sending a letter and a Portkey to both yours and Deakins' apartments to explain everything. He wants to talk to both of you. On your coffee table, is there a dark red feather with a golden underside?"

Alex turned around and, sure enough, there was a feather tied to a note written on parchment paper. Hurrying over to it, she opened it and read the letter, addressed to:

_**Alexandra Eames  
**__**The Living Room  
**_**_28E 108th Street  
_**_**Manhattan, New York**_

"Oh my God," Alex murmured, reading the letter.

_Dear Ms. Eames,_

_I'm certain that, from what Detective Goren told you, you must think there is some sort of hoax being orchestrated, but I assure you that he is not lying and hasn't gone mad, as he said you might think. We have spoken with Madame Malkins and she assures us that he did, indeed, walk into her robe shop wearing nothing but a pair of dark blue boxer shorts..._

Alex snorted despite herself at the image of Bobby wandering around Scotland half-naked.

_Okay, Eames, _concentrate_! It's not productive right now to imagine Bobby in his boxers!_ She'd save that mental image for later on.

_...and that she gave him a set of robes to wear for the time being. As he is currently in the castle, he is not in any imminent danger. However he will have to stay for some time as we find it unacceptable that he has reached adulthood with no knowledge of his magic or any idea of how to use it. It is quite unsafe for him to continue on in this way so we have decided he should be taught to control his magic as soon as possible to avoid his or anyone else being injured. Now, as his partner you are permitted to join him. Ordinarily, Muggles are not allowed into the castle, but Detective Goren assures myself and Professor Dumbledore that yourself and your superior, Captain James Deakins, will not breach the Statute of Wizarding Secrecy, adopted in 1749 by the Wizard's Council to avoid Muggle knowledge of magic and, therefore, another catastrophe like the Salem Witch Trials, which led to the massacre of hundreds of innocent Muggles in Massachusetts, New England due to mass hysteria. There is a Phoenix feather attached to this letter. It has been transformed into a Portkey, which will bring you to the school in fifteen minutes. Please pack what you can, take hold of the Portkey, and wait. Similar instructions have been owled to your superior._

_Yours,_

Professor Minerva McGonagall  
_Deputy Headmistress  
__Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

Alex, now quite pale, looked up to find Bobby's head still sitting in her fireplace. His face showed no amusement whatsoever. On the contrary, it showed trepidation.

"Do you believe me?" He asked quietly. His dark hair was mussed and dirty with soot. His face was streaked with it.

Alex smiled, "I guess I don't have a choice, do I? You should go have a shower, you're covered in soot. I'll be there in a bit."

The little boy smile on his face then made her stomach flip. Several seconds later, Bobby's head was gone and her fireplace was dark again.

* * *

I heard a place not too far from here  
Is handing out answers about why we are here  
And it's a small town, in a small world  
And the congregation's small too  
But somehow I think they're telling the truth;  
And in the same small town there is a girl  
She's a good looker but she's mad at the world  
And she's wonderin' about tomorrow and why she's here  
And she's sick and tired of using her sleeve to wipe her tears

* * *

Bobby sat in the chair in front of the headmaster's desk, playing with his soiled handkerchief. Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall had asked him to wait while they met with other wizards about what they planned to do with him. One of them in particular, a tall man with long, rather greasy black hair and wearing black robes that seemed to swish with every movement he made, stared at him for a few moments before the headmaster had commanded his attention. Bobby had watched him back, intrigued as to why this guy was staring at him. At least he didn't appear to act like Filch. Bobby turned back to the paintings of the previous headmasters and headmistresses, resuming his conversation with Dilys Derwent, who had also been a Healer at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Illnesses in London before her term as headmistress in the early half of the eighteenth century. 

"So wizards and witches have never heard of schizophrenia?" He was astounded. Perhaps this was why he'd never succumbed to the disease that had so ravaged his mother.

"No, my dear, I'm afraid not. And we generally have seen a lot of different illnesses. Many of which, in fact, have never stricken Muggles. Most have been identified, though, so I believe we would have caught this schizophrenia by now. You say it causes mental deterioration and accompanying madness?"

"Yes. I-I have a-a family history of it, but my mother first showed signs of it when she was much younger than I am. I don't know very much about my father's medical history, but I don't believe he was a wizard. In fact, he never mentioned anything remotely magical. Plus, he's dead and Professor Dumbledore says wizards have a longer lifespan than Muggles do."

"Yes, that means you are a Muggle-born. That is, your parents were non-magical. You have no other wizards or witches in your family?"

"Not that I know of," Bobby answered, shifting nervously in the plush purple chair.

"Well, that explains it, then," said another wizard dressed in green and black robes. "Why else would you be here at—how old are you?"

"Forty-three, and blow me," Bobby said between clenched teeth.

The wizard snorted, "You sound like an older version of Potter...as mouthy as can be."

"Leave him be, Phineas," A red-nosed wizard said. "There has to be a reason why he never received a letter from any magical school in America."

"When would I have received it?" Bobby asked, looking at the red-nosed wizard, trying to see what point of his childhood this would have been at.

"At the age of eleven, young man. All magical schools start then. Where were you going to school at the age of eleven?"

"When I was eleven I was supposed to be in the fifth grade, but I got skipped up three grades to eighth. And I was in Advanced Placement for all of high school. By my senior year I was taking college classes."

"Oh," said Phineas Nigellus then, eyeing Bobby with curiosity now. "We have ourselves a _brilliant _one, now don't we? You'll probably go in Ravenclaw then, if Dumbledore decides to Sort you into a House. Tell me, what do you do for a living?"

"I'm a Police Detective, like I told Professor McGonagall. I solve murders and things like that. I work at the New York Police Department."

"Oh, and that sounds like a Gryffindor, always running off and putting yourself in unnecessary danger for the good of _others._ We Slytherins think differently, I have to tell you."

"Goody," Bobby griped, frowning up at Phineas Nigellus. He _definitely_ didn't like this guy. "Sorry I'm not so selfish. I don't think I quite have that in me."

"It's not selfishness, my dear _detective_, it's common sense. I was attempting to explain the same thing to Harry Potter when he was in here. Self-preservation is not a crime, or a sin, or an inconsideration. It's smart."

Bobby rolled his eyes and turned away from Phineas Nigellus, concentrating instead on the door which the Heads of Houses went through.

"A Gryffindor if I ever met one," he heard the wizard say disdainfully. When Bobby turned back around Phineas had left his frame.

"Where'd he go," Bobby asked irritably.

"He probably went to the Black mansion," a wizard with the name Armando Dippet engraved on his portrait's nameplate supplied. "Whatever he says, he hasn't been the same since his great-great-great grandson died a month ago."

"Who was it?" Bobby queried, becoming curious despite his dislike of Phineas.

"Sirius Black," Armando answered sadly. "He was a marvelous student when he was here, he and his friends, James Potter—father of the aforementioned Harry—Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew were always in here for some offense or another, but their grades more than made up for their delinquent behavior. The same for Harry and his two friends Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley. They're always getting into trouble, but do really quite well. Not surprisingly, they were all in Gryffindor...though, in retrospect, I have to wonder why the Sorting Hat placed Pettigrew in that house..."

But before Bobby could ask why, there was a sort of whooshing noise and two people fell out of thin air.

Bobby sprang up and rushed over to pick Alex and Deakins up and set them on their feet.

"Oh, God," Deakins muttered, looking around. "This just keeps getting stranger and stranger."

Alex couldn't comment as Bobby had enveloped her in a hug. "Glad to see you missed me, partner," she spoke into the softness of his new robes. She was glad he couldn't see how much she was enjoying herself. "Bobby Goren, let me go."

Bobby did as he was told and gestured around. "See, I wasn't lying."

Deakins managed a dry chuckle as the doorway Dumbledore and the others went through opened.

"Ah, Detective Eames, Captain Deakins, I see you've both made it," he said, smiling at them.

* * *

There was a time that the pieces fit, but I watched them fall away  
Mildewed and smoldering, strangled by our coveting  
I've done the the math enough to know the dangers of a second guessing  
Doomed to crumble unless we grow, and strengthen our communication

* * *

...tbc... 


	3. Hidden Agendas, Snark on Parade

**Ominous  
**_By Angelfirenze_

**Disclaimer: **Dick Wolf and J.K. Rowling own damned near everything and everyone. It is pointless to attempt to sue me. You will get nothing, as I am merely a L&O:CI and HP loving college student. Anyone you don't recognize belongs to me. There are always lyrics somewhere in all of my stories. They probably will come from Incubus, Radiohead, Straylight Run, Thursday, and My Chemical Romance, just to name a few. Also, I should say that Beka's fic, 'The Art of Being a Kept Woman,' inspired the title. It's my most favorite of hers. And, lastly, there's a line in here inspired by 'The Energy of Nothing' by Mel, which I'm sure you'll all recognize. bright grin

**Summary:** "So let me get this straight," Deakins said, his right hand coming to pinch the bridge of his nose. "You want to deprive me and the rest of New York City of one of—if not _the_ best--our best teams of detectives because you say Bobby's a wizard, but he's not trained and needs to stay here for an indeterminable amount of weeks to learn to use his powers. Did I get that right?"

**Pairings: **Bobby/Alex, as it's only the summertime and no students are there. O.W.L results haven't even gone out yet!

**Timeline:** Post-'Collective' since that's the last one we've seen...damned NBC...pouts I know 'Collective' probably takes place during a winter month, but let's pretend it didn't, okay?

**A/N: **Look, if they act slightly out of character, it's merely from relief. And I have to say, without slightest regret, that chapter four of 'Ama,' by Beka, inspired most of the banter for this chapter. Darn her. She should have a fanlisting. Also, I've had some...ideas for this fic that will probably shock some of you, but I can't fight my muse, so why try? And I _know _James was a pure-blooded wizard, okay? Here, he's not. Plus, I like the ideas...hee. Clue: It's fairly known that Bobby's father was a jerk-off rake, right? And I forgot that Madam Malkins' shop is actually in London, not Hogsmeade, so I'm going to ask if anyone minds that I bend canon and say that she has two shops that she runs concurrently. There. Fixed that.

To Strawberry Jam816: I'm afraid I wasn't planningon thatfor this particular fic. But I have another x-over called 'Blood's Promise' which should probably be more up your alley...Now, Remus _is_ a possible major player because, of course, he knew James, but we'll see...

Part III: Hidden Agendas, Snark on Parade

* * *

And something's coming over me, I see you in the doorway  
I can't control the part of me that swells up when you move into my airspace  
You move into my airspace  
But each night, I bury my love around you...  
You're linked to my innocence

* * *

"So let me get this straight," Deakins said, his right hand coming to pinch the bridge of his nose. "You want to deprive me and the rest of New York City of one of—if not _the_ best--our best teams of detectives because you say Bobby's a wizard, but he's not trained and needs to stay here for an indeterminable amount of weeks to learn to use his powers. Did I get that right?" 

"We assure you, Captain Deakins," Dumbledore's deep voice said, the old man's bright blue eyes burning into his. "We mean Bobby no harm. There are Aurors down at the Hog's Head pub in the village investigating the murder of a girl who was found there this morning. If you feel Bobby isn't working up to his usual amount, I could ask the Ministry to let him assist the Aurors with their investigation. Given his distinctive record with the New York Police Department as well as the United States Armed Forces, I see no real reason why they wouldn't oblige. Particularly given the fact that she was killed without magic, which is to say...unusual...in the magical world. There is also the fact that Bobby managed to Apparate from his apartment in New York all the way across the Atlantic Ocean and into a bed at the Three Broomsticks, where he awoke an hour and a half ago. Only very powerful wizards can Apparate across continents. That he did it with absolutely no training whatsoever...is, well, astounding to say the least."

He gestured to the Heads of Houses seated in various places around the room, all of whom were watching Bobby intensely. The detective in question was standing by the door, trying in vain to escape their notice. Alex sensed his discomfort and sent him a comforting smile and saw him visibly relax.

_All I have to do is concentrate on Alex,_ Bobby thought, taking several deep breath. _They're not watching me. Only she is, and that's perfectly fine...right?"_

"We would be willing to permit Detective Eames' tenure here to ease his transition into the magical world," Professor McGonagall spoke up. "Granted we had her word that she would keep it a complete secret."

"Gotcha," Alex said, giving Professor McGonagall a quick thumbs up. The deputy headmistress frowned at her. Smiling sheepishly, Alex lowered her hand. Looking at Bobby, she shot him a look that plainly said, _She's more strict than my _grandmother._ It'll be fun in her classes, huh?_

Bobby stifled a snicker and mouthed, "_I told you so_."

Looking back at McGonagall, who was now looking as though she was going to breathe fire at them any second, she said, "Scout's honor. Bobby's secret is safe with me."

In a lovely contrast, Professor Dumbledore turned to Professor Snape and told him, "After we get Bobby Sorted would you mind escorting him and his partner to the Great Hall for breakfast? After that, I'd like Bobby to go to the hospital wing for some dreamless sleep potion." He turned to Bobby, who had paled slightly. "It will _help_, I promise you."

Bobby sighed and watched as Professor McGonagall departed to retrieve the Sorting Hat and three-legged stool.

"I am certain that Bobby wouldn't mind if you watched his Sorting. It is rather fitting that those closest to him are here to witness it?"

Alex and Deakins both smiled brightly, any trace of exhaustion leaving them for the time being.

Professor McGonagall returned with the Sorting Hat and sat the stool down on the floor.

"Now, Detective Goren, the Sorting Hat will determine which House suits you best. The Head of your House will be either Professors Flitwick, Snape, Sprout or myself. You will be treated like any other student, gaining points for good behavior, et cetera and losing them for misbehavior, et cetera. That _won't_ be a problem, I hope?"

Captain Deakins and Alex both snorted audibly and McGonagall frowned. Bobby, now blushing darkly again, walked stiffly forward to sit on the stool. Feeling quite foolish, he wondered what was going to happen now.

_Quite the busy little brain, aren't you?_ A voice asked and Bobby stiffened.

_Now, now, don't worry. You're in good hands...not that I have any, but you get the point. Now...where to put you...hmm, a _marvelous_ brain filled with all sorts of things _you _think no one would benefit from knowing. Tsk tsk, how little we think of ourselves. Let's see, there's a very big heart to go with that brain...but a dirty little rotten streak that you hope no one ever sees, _particularly_ your lovely partner._

Bobby frowned deeply. _Don't do that. She's better than that. Stop it._

_Oh, don't worry. There's nothing wrong with you that I can see and I've seen a lot, mind you. I may be a hat, but I _do _have a long memory._

Alex watched, her fingers crossed as Bobby sat on the little stool, dwarfed by his six-foot, four-inch frame. Any other time, she would've laughed at him, but this was far too important. She wanted to say something to encourage him, but figured she didn't want to get any further onto Professor McGonagall's bad side if she was going to be here all summer. Finally, after some more minutes, the Hat called out "_Gryffindor!"_ for everyone to hear. She and Deakins clapped enthusiastically as Bobby got up, now shaking subtly under his robes, and gave the Hat back to Professor McGonagall.

"I'd _never_ wish that Hat on anyone," Bobby muttered, quite pale.

"Not even Nicole?" Alex asked, semi-seriously. Bobby frowned a bit.

"Well...maybe her."

* * *

It's all for you  
You've got me where you want  
It's all for you  
Just stop breaking my heart  
You're the blood I'm the seed and  
You're all that I need  
You've got me where you want

* * *

Captain Deakins shook hands with Professor Dumbledore, Bobby, and Alex before turning to Professor McGonagall and the other Heads of Houses. "I want to say thanks for allowing Alex to come here. They, uh, well they work much better together than apart. Besides, it gives me something to tell my superiors when they ask why my two best detectives are suddenly missing. Now I can tell them they ran off to Tahiti to get married." 

"Ha ha," Alex said, turning sharply and glaring at her boss. "Please don't use my favorite vacation spot for whatever nefarious little plots you're going to cook up to lose both mine and Bobby's jobs for us while we're gone. That's rude and inconsiderate."

"Yeah," Bobby said, a mock-annoyed look on his face. Then he grinned wickedly. "You should tell them I kidnapped Alex and make her cook for me while I write hundreds of failed novels in a remote cabin in Vancouver."

"You'll cook for _me_, thank you," Alex clarified, elbowing Bobby in the chest. "I plan dismember you and combine your body parts with an Easy Bake Oven. My very own Bobby-Bake Oven. Mm, Bobby-flavored cakes."

"Ew," Bobby snickered, grinning at her. "That sounds disgusting."

Professor Flitwick was starting to giggle now while Professors Sprout and Dumbledore both smiled indulgently. Professors Snape and McGonagall, on the other hand, looked as though they swallowed something sour.

"You two," Deakins said, rolling his eyes. "Behave, _please_. And keep in mind that those jokes are only funny to the two of you. Everyone else thinks they're—"

"Repulsive, disgusting," Alex intoned, grinning. "We know, Captain. You can only tell us—"

"So many times," Bobby finished, flashing a full, white smile. "Before we'll be put in front of the disciplinary board for disorderly conduct. Not that we're actually being disorderly."

"More like silly and immature. Nothing that won't disappear with time."

"One can only hope," Bobby finished, now grinning, quite happy with the outcome of the day's events.

Deakins sighed. He missed them already. "Look, Bobby, I'll send along your service piece, your binder, and everything else tomorrow, alright? And keep him away from sugar, Alex, _please?"_

He felt just like a mother sending her children off to...to school. _Argh, I've gone soft..._

"Hey," Bobby objected, fidgeting with the hem of his robes. "I don't have ADHD. Alex just thinks so...and my mother's doctor, but that's inconclusive."

"Inconclusive, my—" Alex stopped short and glanced at Professor McGonagall, who looked ready to spit bullets. "Um, nothing. Just...inconclusive. Anyway, yes sir. He won't even get frosted flakes."

"You're so mean to me," Bobby said, heading toward another contraption sitting on a shelf.

"Bobby, stop touching Professor Dumbledore's things," Deakins said tiredly. "I'm sure you'll be in here again soon."

Bobby frowned and stepped away from the really cool spinning-top-looking thing.

"Yes," Professor Snape said, speaking up at last. "Do stop acting like first years. And, keep in mind, I _will_ dock points from you, detectives."

"Aren't I older than you?" Bobby pointed out, glancing at Snape and taking a close look.

"I—" Snape bristled visibly, his hands balling into fists. "I don't care. I am your instructor and you are my student, Detective Goren, and you _will_ obey me." With that he swept magnificently from the room. Alex gave Bobby a look of approval and clapped lightly. "Hm, impressive exit...Drama king in the making?"

Bobby grinned and followed Professor Snape, but stopping, however,to letAlex go first. Deakins sighed once again and turned to the remaining Heads. "Don't worry. They're usually not this...t-they'll..." And he gestured vaguely, blushing a bit. "They're acting like they're on a reconnaissance job. Sorry."

But Professor Dumbledore was still smiling. "Not to worry. Now, Captain Deakins, I am certain you would like time to concoct what must be a very inventive and clever cover story that, hopefully, has nothing to do with kidnapping or 'Bobby-Bake Ovens.'"

Deakins shook his head, "Yeah, definitely. So, this Portkey will take me back home, right?"

"Correct," Dumbledore agreed. "You will receive monthly reports of Bobby's progress and, when he is finished, he will come back to New York a fully-trained wizard."

"I just hope he doesn't get himself cursed by Snape or Professor McGonagall," Deakins sighed, taking hold of his Portkey. Instantly, he felt a tugging sensation behind his navel. He'd never get used to this.

_Bobby Goren, a _wizard_. Will wonders never cease?_

* * *

Last week I had the strangest dream  
Where everything was exactly how it seemed  
Where there was never any mystery  
Of who shot John F. Kennedy  
It was just a man with something to prove  
Slightly bored and severely confused  
He steadied his rifle with his target in the center  
And became famous on that day in November

* * *

Bobby and Alex followed Professor Snape through the school, their eyes taking in as much as they could. Bobby's ever-observant brain, however, was building maps and memorizing routes. Alex herself was still partially asleep and, therefore, less attentive. _Not that I'm _ever_ as attentive as my lovely partner, there..._ She yawned, stretching, and glared playfully at Bobby. 

"I still haven't gotten to go to bed, you know."

Bobby bit his lip and looked at his size thirteen feet where they were walking along the hall, several meters behind Professor Snape. "I'm sorry, Alex. I didn't mean to keep you awake this long. You must be really—"

"Excited for you, so stop being apologetic, mister," she admonished. "Besides, I get breakfast and, presumably, really lovely accommodations for the next three months. It's kinda like staying at a magical version of the Four Seasons, which—yay."

Bobby smiled and waved at a portrait of a small child and its mother sitting in a chair. Above them, something gave a mechanical sound and they looked up.

"Bobby," Alex said in awe. "The staircases _move_."

"They change positions every Friday," said Professor Snape irritably as they caught up to him. "Now come quickly please. The headmaster alerted the kitchens to make food for you and, presumably, some of it is American. After that, I am to drop you both off at the hospital wing and—" He stomped over to Bobby, his black robes swish-swishing, and poked him in the chest. "Older than me or not, I do not accept substandard, slipshod work in my students. You are no exception, detective."

Alex grinned and looked at Bobby, then back at Snape. "Him? Substandard? Yeah right. He's not our best for nothing."

"You're just as good, Alex," Bobby said firmly. "I bet if you were a witch, you'd wipe the floor with our dear _Professor,_ here."

Snape stopped and turned around, his eyes hard and glinting. "Such similarities to Potter...both, in fact, father _and_ son. The same arrogance...cockiness...I shall look forward to failing you."

Bobby said nothing, his jaw even, his dark eyes showing no reaction whatsoever. Alex, on the other hand, was livid. She wanted to pull out her gun and shoot this asshole right now. It would be self-defense, really. _No one_ insulted her Bobby—uh, no...her partner...and lived to tell about it. But Bobby's hand on hers seemed to be having a calming effect on her.

_Mmm...Bobby's fingers..._No! She shook her head to dispel the wrongful, lusty thoughts she wasn't supposed to be having about the man she loved like a brother. An incredibly brilliant, weird, astonishingly gorgeous...brother. _Oh shit._

* * *

I was just guessing at numbers and figures  
Pulling the puzzles apart  
Questions of science, science and progress  
Don't speak as loud as my heart  
Tell me you love me, and come back and haunt me  
Oh, when I rush to the start  
Running in circles, chasing tails, coming back as we are

* * *

They followed Professor Snape back down into the Entrance Hall, Bobby had a feeling, while going down the stairs, that something was amiss. Stopping short, he held out an arm to stop Alex walking forward. "Bobby, what—" 

"Wait, Alex." Bobby saw something tiny on the ground lying on the floor and picked it up before taking it and dropping on the step. Instead of landing and bouncing on the carpet, it sunk right through and disappeared. "Wow."

"What are you waiting for?" Professor Snape's voice rang out, his irritability still quite apparent. Bobby sighed and skipped the "missing" step, frowning a bit. Alex did the same, grumbling, "That greasy bastard did that on purpose!"

Bobby frowned again, noting that a large set of golden doors on the right side of the hall were closing. "He went through there."

They walked through the door and Alex gasped, her eyes widening. "Bobby, look at the ceiling!" She whispered, clutching his arm.

"It's enchanted to mirror the sky outside," Bobby muttered, awed by the sight of the "sunlight" streaming down into the Great Hall.

"It's like there's no ceiling, sort of."

They walked over to a table and sat down. Snape, instead, was standing beside the table next to it. "That's the Slytherin table, you know," he said, smiling evilly. Bobby jumped up immediately, thinking irritably of Phineas Nigellus. Coming over to sit at the table Snape stood in front of, Bobby said quietly. "I have reason to believe this _is_ the Gryffindor table. Am I right?"

His voice was neutral, betraying no outward emotion whatsoever. Snape was nothing compared to Nicole. Most importantly, Snape knew absolutely nothing about him. He could be as pissy as he liked, but he wasn't a threat. _However_, Bobby reasoned as Alex joined him, glaring at the professor like she wanted to cause him serious harm with a certain weapon still in her possession. _It would be a good idea to do some research, and not just about magic._

While Bobby was thinking, dishes of food—both British and American—appeared at the table.

"Goren," Snape said, dispensing with Bobby's title all together. "That food _is_ here for your benefit, you know." Wordlessly, Bobby selected eggs and cheese, milk, and potato pancakes before proceeding to eat. Alex decided, it seemed, upon hashed browns, cereal, and orange juice. When they were finished eating, their plates disappeared.

"Now," Snape said, turning and beginning to walk away. "If all are _ready, _I am to escort you to the hospital wing. Come."

Alex rolled her eyes and fingered the grip of her Glock, plainly itching to pull it out and play a little target practice with a certain pain in the ass teacher. Bobby smiled a little and they started to follow.

Professor Snape had left them behind with a snide, "Surely you two don't need help finding your way inside?"

Wordlessly, Alex pulled out her gun and pointed it at him. "I go to the firing range once a month, asshole. Want to test my aim?"

Snape looked at her with confusion. "What is that you're pointing at me?" he asked grumpily.

Alex looked at him like he'd grown another head. "It's called a gun, stupid," she said viciously. "It goes 'bang' and my finger on the trigger generally spells death for whoever's on the other side. That means you unless you shut the—"

That was when Bobby pulled her into the hospital wing, pushing Alex's gun down out of the way. "Leave. Now." He commanded Professor Snape, completely serious.

Snape got the hint finally and skulked away, his eyes narrowed.

Bobby changed out of his robes and into the light blue pajamas that Madam Pomfrey had insisted they wear while in her ward. Coming out from behind the changing screen, Bobby scowled as Alex bit back a giggle. "Aww, how cute," she said, twirling around to show her ease with them. Bobby pulled his one of his sleeves and climbed into bed, rolling his eyes before pulling out Hogwarts, A History and cracking open the huge book again.

"Knowing you, that book'll be read by the end of the weekend."

Bobby grinned until he noticed Madam Pomfrey returning with a mug full of what he presumed to be Dreamless Sleep Potion. "Y-you're sure that won't have any weird side-effects? Like I won't go into a coma, right?"

"No, of course not, dear. Now, drink up so you can get some rest for a change. You look as though you haven't in ages."

Bobby sighed and lay back, taking the mug and downing it. Immediately, the potion took effect and he began to drop off. He felt himself sinking into lovely warm comfort.

"Goodnight, Bobby," he heard Alex's voice say faintly and then he heard nothing else.

* * *

The mockingbird sings  
'Lalalalalalala, listen to yourself  
Go on and on as if you spoke to someone else...'

* * *

When Bobby woke up, it was very early in the morning. He managed to sit up and check the clock on the bedside table. _Six am? I slept for nearly twenty-four _hours_? They weren't kidding about this stuff, were they?_

Slumping back on the bed, he felt the potion trying to take hold of him again. Figuring that with all the sleep he'd missed out on, any more he got couldn't be a bad thing. With that, he let it take him again...

When he woke up a second time, Alex was now dressed in her own clothes, sitting next to his bed sorting through some stuff. Slowly, he sat up and she looked at him. "Hey partner," she said, her eyes smiling joy at him. "That was some nap. It's four in the afternoon."

"W-what's all that?" Bobby asked, yawning. There were books and, jeez, was that a cauldron?

_Well, yes, idiot, _his inner snark told him. _For they use cauldrons in schools for _ma-gic. This inner snark always seemed to sound like the woman sitting next to his bed. For a fleeting moment he wished she was sitting in it instead. _Whoa...where'd that come from? I've got to wake up..._

"Your school supplies, actually," Alex answered, picking up a book and showing it to him. "'Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander.' Sounds interesting. Dumbledore and McGonagall say you and I are going to go with Rubeus Hagrid, the gamekeeper, to Diagon Alley in London tomorrow to get your uniform and wand. If you want, you can have an owl, a cat, or a toad. Dumbledore personally advised against rats but, hey, we're from New York. We have enough rats at home, don't you think?"

Bobby laughed, his mouth closed to contain the sound, and Alex giggled. She loved making him smile and laugh. He was always so...stoic, usually. Whenever she made him smile it gave her a little tingly feeling inside. Like she was saving the world, only way more heady than that. _Though it could be because he's gorgeous when he smiles...hell, he's usually gorgeous. Like now, all sleepy-eyed and bedheaded—_No!

Alex mentally shook herself. She'd firmly told her inner wanton to shut the hell up and stop with the lusty thoughts about a man she had no business wanting in the first. _Besides,_ she reasoned, biting her lip. _This is a _school_, not your apartment...or his, damn it, who the hell am I kidding..._

"Alex!" Bobby said loudly in a way that made it clear that he'd been trying to attract her attention for some time. He put his hand over his mouth, like he was in a space shuttle. "Mission Control, we have lost connection. Come in Mission Control."

She smacked his shoulder.

"I thought I was the daydreamer in this outfit," Bobby said, grinning, and climbing out of bed. He went over to the table next to the bathroom and picked up the towel and washcloth that sat there. "See you in a bit."

Alex tried not to imagine him naked.

* * *

Hey now, I'm gonna get with you somehow  
I'm on a mission, I gotta get your permission  
You shouldn't try to look so good  
If you don't wanna be misunderstood

* * *

...tbc... 


	4. Connections Made and Pasts Reexamined

**Ominous  
**_By Angelfirenze_

**Disclaimer: **Dick Wolf and J.K. Rowling own damned near everything and everyone. It is pointless to attempt to sue me. You will get nothing, as I am merely a L&O:CI and HP loving college student. Anyone you don't recognize belongs to me. There are always lyrics somewhere in all of my stories. They probably will come from Incubus, Radiohead, Straylight Run, Thursday, and My Chemical Romance, just to name a few. Also, I should say that Beka's fic, 'The Art of Being a Kept Woman,' inspired the title. It's my most favorite of hers. And, lastly, there's paraphrasing from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's/Philosopher's Stone.

**Summary:** '...Around the time I was six and a half, I started to notice that he would come home smelling like women. At the time I thought it was just...odd...because I knew Daddy wasn't supposed to smell kinda like Mommy, and certainly not someone else's mommy...'

**Pairings: **Bobby/Alex, as it's only the summertime and no students are there. O.W.L results haven't even gone out yet!

**Timeline:** Post-'Collective' since that's the last one we've seen...damned NBC...pouts I know 'Collective' probably takes place during a winter month, but let's pretend it didn't, okay?

**A/N: **Just like with 1PP, I want to reference 'Above and Beyond the Call of Duty' by Piaffe 417, which is one of my most favorite CI fics ever. I should post a challenge for everyone to list theirs...also, I'm afraid I'm going to have to tweak Harry and the others' birthdates somewhat to make this story believable, etc. Harry, Ron, Draco, and Neville—and Dudley, for that matterwere born in March, June, and July 1989 and Hermione was born in September 1988. Ginny and Luna were both born in 1990, though I don't know their specific birthdates. If this bothers you, I'm sorry, but it wouldn't make sense for the Golden Trio to still be in school at the age of twenty-three and a half, now would it?

Part IV: Connections Made and Pasts Reexamined

* * *

Empty spaces, what are we waiting for  
Abandoned places, I guess we know the score  
On and on, does anybody know what we are looking for  
Another hero, another mindless crime  
Behind the curtain in the pantomime  
Hold the line, does anybody want to take it anymore

* * *

It was nearly sunset and Bobby Goren and Alex Eames were touring the grounds with Rubeus Hagrid, who was showing them around. Bobby, dressed again in his laundered robes, had asked what had been done with the victim's body because he was afraid that someone might've thrown out or destroyed key evidence, unaware of what it really was. Hagrid was now staring at him. 

"So yeh actually want ter go look at the poor girl's body an' touch it?" Hagrid sounded very unsure and quite shocked at what Bobby had just told him about wanting to go to the Ministry of Magic to examine the victim found behind The Hog's Head yesterday morning. The giant's face was pale under his beard and he was staring at Bobby as though he were the giant instead of the other way around. Bobby looked calmly up at Hagrid, who was at least four feet taller than he was, and nodded.

"I solve murders at home in New York." He indicated Alex, who scowled slightly and glared at both the taller men. She didn't like being the shortest one by far at all. "Alex is my partner."

"Please. Bobby, compared to the two of you, I might as well be your ten year old daughter."

"Untrue," Bobby objected, smiling nonetheless. "I'm tiny, too, compared to Hagrid. And anyway, he's half-giant. He's bigger than anyone else here. I heard from one of the paintings in the Headmaster's office this morning that the Headmistress of Beauxbatons Academy of Magic in France is half-giantess, too. That's fascinating."

"You think a dead cockroach is fascinating," Alex griped, but she was smiling some now, too. "And you say, 'I heard from one of the paintings' as though this is just everyday stuff, like it was a story on the news or something." She looked at Hagrid and smirked a little. "So, Professor Hagrid, what subject do you teach?"

"Care o' Magical Creatures," Hagrid said, beaming proudly. "For three years now."

Bobby grinned, "I want that class."

"Oh no, Bobby," Hagrid said, smirking a little. "Yeh'll have ter wait until yeh get up ter third year level before yeh take my class. Don' worry, I'm sure it won' take too long. Yer captain sent over yer stuff while yeh were asleep. There were muggle school records, accordin' ter Professor McGonagall. Yer a bright one, you are."

Bobby sighed and flushed a little. "Can we talk about my schedule, please?" He asked, desperate to change the subject.

Hagrid sighed. "Sorry, you can' set yer schedule until yer third year level; an' yeh do that with Professor McGonagall, as she's Head of Gryffindor House."

"Let me guess," Bobby muttered, thinking of the Slytherins he'd already met. "Professor Snape and the rest of the Slytherins hate Gryffindor House?"

Hagrid frowned, "Well, they don' get on too well, ter tell the truth, bu' I'm certain Professor Snape won' be too harsh—"

"Alex pulled her gun on him outside the hospital wing the night we got here because he made aspersions on our characters," Bobby said, gripping his own gun where it was in the holster belted around his waist. He especially liked his robes because his Glock was still easily accessible. "Not to mention Harry Potter and his father, James, who I have to admit I'm quite curious about by now. I'm guessing that none of them get along too well?"

"Greasy bastard," Alex murmured, kicking a small pebble on their path.

Hagrid cleared his throat and sighed. "Look, it's nothin' that I can talk abou' an' I'm sure it's not anythin' the two o' yeh have done."

"Who is Harry Potter?" Bobby asked, turning and stepping in front of Hagrid to block his path. "He said I'm just like the Potters. He said I was cocky and arrogant and they were, too. If Alex shoots him then it'll be on your head."

Hagrid's mouth dropped open as he stared at the two detectives who had come to Hogwarts the morning before. Goren, he saw, was not to be deterred in his questions about Harry. _Or anything else_, he guessed. He gulped.

"Look, Detectives, I'm sorry, but the best person ter tell this story is Professor Dumbledore. Besides, it's Harry's business, really, an'—"

"You're friends with Harry and his friends, aren't you?" Bobby asked suddenly, catching Hagrid a little off-guard. When Alex gave him an inquiring look, he supplied, "He didn't refer to Harry as 'Potter,' like Snape did. And Snape obviously has no affection for the kid whatsoever, or for me. Again, he said I was just like them. I just want to know what he meant."

Hagrid looked down at Bobby and was stricken by just how much his determined expression mirrored Harry's...and James', for that matter. It was rather unnerving seeing them in a near stranger who he'd only just met hours before.

Hagrid sighed, "Look, Bobby...when James an' Professor Snape were students here...they didn't really get on all that well. James was...well, most fifteen-year-old boys are prats an' well..."

"James and Snape were enemies."

Hagrid sighed again. "Well, ter be honest, all I ever saw Severus do was defend himself, but I'm certain that he wasn' a saint. He probably cursed James, too...but James was a bit o' a showoff back then an' had a bit o' a big head."

"So James bullied Snape and now Harry has to pay for it. He thinks Harry's just like his father."

Alex frowned, watching Bobby put these unpleasant pieces together.

"Well, James calmed down a bit by seventh year, bu' I suppose the damage had been done. Snape's always hated him, even though 'e's dead."

"And he hates Harry because he's James' son," Alex added, biting her lip in thought.

"I don' think it helps that Harry is the spittin' image o' his father. Except fer his eyes. 'E's got Lily's eyes, he does."

"Lily?" Bobby asked, stopping to watch the giant squid from where they were by the lake. Seeing a stone, he picked it up and skipped it across the water. He looked back at Hagrid questioningly.

"Lily Potter was Harry's mother, though she was Lily Evans back then. She always defended Snape until one day when he called her a—" Hagrid broke off, frowning deeply.

"Called her what, Hagrid?" Alex asked, hating Snape even more.

"Well, there's wizards out there, purebloods an' the like...they think wizards with Muggle parents aren' fit ter go ter Hogwarts..."

"Like me," Bobby asked, frowning. "I'm a Muggle-born and they think I'm second-class."

Hagrid frowned deeper before picking up his own stone and skipping it. "Yeah, there's a name they have fer Muggle-borns..._Mudblood._ It's real foul, disgustin', an' evil."

"And Snape called Lily a Mudblood after she stuck up for him."

"Way to show his gratitude," Alex bit out, watching the giant squid stick two of its legs out of the water. She looked at Bobby and, sure enough, he was thinking about something.

"So what does that have to do with me?" He asked Hagrid. "I was annoyed because he was being so rude to us, so I said I bet Alex could wipe the floor with him if she was a witch. That's when he said I was like the Potters."

"I dunno, Bobby, but I have to admit, I can sorta see what he means...in a nice way, o' course. Yeh've got some o' Harry's expressions. Ter be honest, I'm a little nervous."

"I do? But that's impossible. I don't have any wizards or witches in my family. My father was a Muggle and so is my mother. That doesn't make sense."

"Yeah, I know. And besides, Harry's only other family are the Dursleys...real terrible lot they are, those Muggles. It's almost like they're You Know Who in reverse. They hate Harry because he's a wizard...rotten Muggles. I'd take 'im away from there if I could, but he's got ter be protected. Blood magic's real specific, see?"

"Why's Harry under protection?" Alex asked, craning her neck to look at Hagrid, who was nearly twice her size. "Snape put a hit out on him or something?"

"No, no, nothin' like that. Snape wouldn' ever kill Harry, 'e's a teacher. It's You Know Who wantin' ter kill 'im. Ever since he was a little baby, but he didn' die. It's why 'e's famous, see?"

"No, I don't see," Bobby disagreed, trying to piece together Hagrid's fractured story. "Who's this You Know Who I keep hearing about?"

Hagrid sighed again, looking at Bobby as though he wanted nothing more than out of this line of questioning.

Seeing his discomfort, Alex supplied, "You think you're under scrutiny? Just wait until you see him interrogate someone. He destroys them."

"I do not," Bobby objected, blushing slightly. "Hagrid, who is You Know Who, because we don't know _who_ he is."

Hagrid frowned deeply, backing up to sit on a very large boulder. Bobby and Alex each found their own smaller boulders grouped around his and sat down.

"Look, there's a wizard called...L-lord Voldemort. Nobody says his name on accoun' of how terrible 'e is. For years he went around with his followers, some goin' willingly, some he enchanted, killin' folk. Anyone who got in his way had ter go. Some of the best wizards o' our age: the Bones, the McKinnons—"

"The Potters," Bobby interjected, his brow creased in anger and sadness.

"Yes, the Potters, too. The night 'e went ter Harry's parents house, he murdered 'em usin' the Killin' Curse before goin' after Harry. Harry was the one 'e was really after. It was the reason the Potters had gone inter hidin'. They'd been betrayed by their Secret Keeper, Peter Pettigrew, who later framed Sirius Black, their original Secret Keeper, for their murders. Sirius spent over twelve years in Azkaban fer what that filthy, stinkin', lyin'—"

"Azkaban?" Bobby queried, interrupting Hagrid's burgeoning tirade.

"The wizard prison. It's way out ter sea an', until a few months ago, it was guarded by the Dementors, soul-eatin' monsters that feed off yer happiness an' good memories until there's nothin' left but the worst moments of yer whole life. They've left to go join You-Know-Who, I expect," Hagrid elaborated darkly. "An' it's only a matter o' time before all the Death Eaters—those're You Know Who's loyal followers, the evil gits—start killin' people again. They all broke out abou' three months ago. It was in the papers. Sirius was the Daily Prophet—that's the Ministry's rag of a newspaper that wrote all these ridiculous stories and said terrible stuff about Harry for the last two years—scapegoat, o' course, because he was the first one ter break out. Bu' that was because he wanted ter find Peter an' kill 'im."

Hagrid paused and watched a flock of birds fly over head. There was a great sadness etched into the face under his massive beard. "Don' blame 'im, really. He was in hidin' fer two years until he went to the Ministry last month ter try an' save Harry an' his friends lives. They were lured there by the Death Eaters an' You Know Who showed up an' tried ter kill Harry again. Those dirty rotten bastards attacked all the kids, nearly killed 'em, bu' they fought back real good. Sirius was murdered by Bellatrix Lestrange. His own cousin! Not that that mean' much. 'E was the on'y decent one o' the bunch. All the rest o' the Blacks were Sorted inter Slytherin an' while that doesn' necessarily mean they're all goin' ter be evil, it hasn't been proven wrong once...except with Peter Pettigrew, o' course."

"Armando Dippet said he was in Gryffindor," Bobby added darkly. "He said he wondered why the Sorting Hat ever put him in that House. Now I know why. He sold the Potters out."

"Damn righ' he did," Hagrid said, eyeing the surrounding area angrily.

Alex, who had been calmly but angrily listening, looked at Bobby and said, "You know, Bobby, about what Snape said and what Hagrid's said about you and Harry...it wouldn't hurt to just make sure."

And that was why Bobby and Alex were now sequestered in the cavernous school library, under the piercing gaze of Madam Pince who seemed to treat the books like they were her own children. Professor Dumbledore had given him written permission to use the Restricted Section and Bobby had proceeded to gather everything on wizarding genealogy that he could find. All the books on the Founders of the school and every record he could find of any Potters. He found Harry himself mentioned in Great Wizarding Achievements of the Twentieth Century and two others. Alex had decided to leave Bobby to his research and was simply perusing the library of her leisure. She had by now become more accustomed to the fact that all the pictures moved, although in some of the books the illustrations depicted were more than a little nauseating.

_Okay, that is _more _than enough of a description_, she thought unhappily, snapping shut a book featuring an enchanted illustration of something called Polyjuice Potion, that apparently turned the person who drank it into someone else. It looked incredibly painful.

"Oh my God," She heard Bobby mutter and looked up to find him face first in a book about the Potters and others of great wizarding importance.

"Bobby?" Alex asked, getting up and walking over to him. "What's wrong?"

But he didn't answer her. Running his hands distractedly through his hair, Bobby stood quickly and walked over to the desk where Madam Pince sat. He said something but Alex couldn't hear him despite the quiet of the library. Confused, Alex watched as Bobby hurriedly checked the book out and turned, walking out of the library almost at a run.

"No running in the library!" Madam Pince called after them as Alex hurried to catch up with them. "And you two should _know better_!" She added angrily, but Bobby paid her no mind and, as a result, neither did Alex.

"Bobby, what is it?" Alex called breathlessly, chasing after Bobby as he strode through the halls not paying attention to anything but his destination. She lunged forward and grabbed his arm. "Robert Goren, what is the problem?"

Bobby stood before Alex, an odd expression on his face. A sort of a mixture of alarm and shame. The corners of his mouth were twitching. Wordlessly, he lifted the book and opened it to where his thumb had been keeping the page marked. It was a reprinting of the news report in the Daily Prophet the day after the Potters death on Halloween 1990.

_...James Henry Potter, only heir to the Potter family, was adopted by his stepfather, Steven Potter, soon after his birth. It is reputed that his biological father is an unknown Muggle from the state of New York in the continental United States. These rumors have yet to be proven as both James and Lily Evans Potter are buried in Godric's Hollow, Wales, this day the first of November, 1990. The Boy Who Lived, Harry Potter, is currently being transported to an unknown safe haven in Southern England..._

Alex was confused. "Wait, Bobby, what does this mean? I'm not following you."

Bobby sighed and replied softly, "Remember how I told you my dad...he...well, he used to cheat on my mother a lot..." Bobby shifted in his place before her, a faint blush coming to his cheeks, and Alex felt a fresh surge of anger toward the previously faceless man who abandoned her best friend so long ago.

"But how do you know that he's James' dad? I mean, wouldn't he have told you?"

"No. I didn't want anything to do with him after he left. Around the time I was six and a half, I started to notice that he would come home smelling like women. At the time I thought it was just...odd...because I knew Daddy wasn't supposed to smell kinda like Mommy, and certainly not someone else's mommy. But I didn't really figure it out until after he left. I remembered how he would be gone for stretches at a time on business trips. I imagine he had to fly to England at least once or twice. And he'd always come home smelling like..."

Bobby trailed off, wheeling back around and resuming his steady stride up several flights of stairs. "Hagrid and Snape saying I reminded them of James and Harry. This is why, damn it."

He doubled his steps so that Alex nearly had to jog to keep up with him.

"Bobby, are we going to see Dumbledore?" Alex asked, blinking to clear her eyes. She didn't want Bobby to notice how upset she was because he knew he'd hate any pity she felt for him.

Bobby didn't answer and, really, Alex didn't expect him to.

* * *

I'll be the one to protect you from your enemies and all your demons  
I'll be the one to protect you from a will to survive and a voice of reason  
I'll be the one to protect you from your enemies and your choices son  
They're one in the same, I must isolate you  
Isolate and save you from yourself

* * *

...tbc... 


	5. Reunions and Discoveries

**Ominous  
**_By Angelfirenze_

**Disclaimer:** Dick Wolf and J.K. Rowling own damned near everything and everyone. It is pointless to attempt to sue me. You will get nothing, as I am merely a L&O:CI and HP loving college student. Anyone you don't recognize belongs to me. There are always lyrics somewhere in all of my stories. They probably will come from Incubus, Radiohead, Straylight Run, Thursday, and My Chemical Romance, just to name a few. Also, I should say that Beka's fic, 'The Art of Being a Kept Woman,' inspired the title. It's my most favorite of hers.

**Summary:** Despite the fact that he still had no real idea who the detectives were, Harry grinned before catching himself. "Er, um, detectives...who are you two and what are you doing in Little Whinging with my—" His voice dropped to a whisper. "Potions teacher?"

**Pairings:** Bobby/Alex, as it's only the summertime and no students are there. O.W.L results haven't even gone out yet!

**Timeline:** Post-'Collective,' pre-'Stress Position,' since I don't feel like dealing with Logan just yet. And I know 'Collective', etc. probably take place during a winter month, but let's pretend it didn't, okay?

**A/Ns: **Eventually, I'm going to reference 'Above and Beyond the Call of Duty' by Piaffe 417, which is one of my most favorite CI fics ever. I know I said that last chapter, but I forgot to put it in because I was trying to live up to the deadline I'd given myself. See? Nothing good comes out of deadlines (for me, anyway...). They suck beyond all measure. Anyway, I'll get to it eventually. After taking care of some business, of course...and you know what I said about not having Snape baby sit Bobby? Apparently, I _am_ that mean...

I got information on the death penalty and Glocks from How Things Work and the Glock website, but won't let me put the addresses up. grumbles

Part V: Reunions and Discoveries

* * *

I feel like I lost everything when you're gone  
Left remembering what it's like to have you here with me  
I thought you should know  
You're not making this easy

* * *

Bobby ground out the password to Dumbledore's office, too impatient to wait for the escalator to take him upstairs. Taking the moving steps two at a time, he bounded into the circular room and called Dumbledore's name.The wizard in question came strolling out of another room, closing a book and looking pleasantly up at Bobby, who stood breathing deeply to attempt to calm himself. It wouldn't do to yell at Dumbledore, who'd been quite hospitable to him. 

"Bobby...You are here about Harry," Dumbledore said heavily, peering over at his half-moon spectacles at Bobby and settling himself behind his desk, steepling his fingers in front of his face.

Alex stared in shock. _How did he know that? Bobby hasn't even said anything about it..._

"You were responsible for Harry's fate, I know you were," Bobby said in controlled tones. "You put him with the Dursleys after..." he faltered, running a hand through his short, unkempt hair. "You knew who James' father was, didn't you? His real father. My father."

Dumbledore sighed, letting his hands lower to the desk before him. "I did not know that James' father—your father...had another son. I did not know that Harry had another uncle. I was able to come to that conclusion the morning I met you. Severus' reaction to you...certain familial resemblances, both physical and personality-wise..."

"The Dursleys abuse Harry and still you keep him there every summer. You let him go through that. You make him—" Bobby broke off and began to pace madly all over the room. "He's my nephew. H-he's of my blood and—"

But Dumbledore held up a hand. "The blood protection in Harry was from his mother, not his father, who died first. His aunt, Petunia, no matter how much she pretends and claims otherwise, _does_ care for Harry. Rather a lot, actually. It is his uncle and cousin, Vernon and Dudley Dursley, who pose the real potential threat, but while Petunia is there they will not harm Harry in any substantial way."

"I don't want him harmed at _all_, do you understand that!" Bobby exclaimed, whirling around to face Dumbledore who, contrary to being angry at him for yelling, sighed and looked down at his desk. "What?" Bobby snapped after a few seconds.

"As I told Harry a month ago, I have made mistakes. These mistakes were out of my own desire to see Harry innocent for as long as he could be. I didn't take into account that he deserved to know why everything that happened came about. You are right; you are of his blood and Harry is old enough to make the decision for himself instead of everyone around him making it for him. I will do research myself to see if there is any way to transfer the blood protection spell from Petunia Dursley to you, Robert Goren. If—and only if—Harry elects to live with you."

"Why wouldn't he?" Alex asked pointedly, speaking at last. "If Dursley and his son are as bad as everyone says, he should be happy."

"He doesn't know me," Bobby answered, understanding at once. "When NYCS—uh, New York Children's Services took me from my mother, I hated living with all of my foster families. They were strangers. I didn't know them from Adam. Sure, my mother is unstable, but she's still my mother...I love her and she loves me. She didn't mean to hurt me. These Dursleys don't sound remotely like her, but it's still the same principle. Harry doesn't know me—I-I've been completely absent from his life and, unlike Sirius, it wasn't because I was in prison."

"You didn't even know you had a little brother," Alex objected, her expression incredulous. "Let alone a nephew. I think he'll forgive you."

But Bobby looked doubtful. "Look," He ran his left hand through his short, graying hair, now standing on end. "I...I just want to meet him; to talk to him—and Petunia—if I could. Without her husband and son around, if it's possible. Today, please."

"I think that could be arranged," Dumbledore agreed gravely, reaching into a desk drawer and pulling out a length of parchment, a quill, and an ink bottle before beginning to write what must have been a letter to Harry. "But I want you to take this with you. And, since you do not have a license to Apparate yet, Bobby, you both will need transportation and a guide."

"I went to Oxford," Bobby objected, having a feeling this was going to lead to more unwanted time with Snape. "I know my way around England."

"Yes, but you don't know where Surrey is from here, do you?"

Bobby frowned, not liking to admit that Dumbledore was right. "I don't want to go with Snape and certainly not if he already hates Harry."

"He is the only one of the teachers who can go," Dumbledore explained, finishing the letter, sealing it, and handing it to an irritated Bobby. "Also, again, you do not have certification from the Ministry of Magic as a fully-trained wizard yet. You haven't even started your classes or received a wand...you cannot do this yourself. I know it goes against everything you know and believe about yourself and, indeed, is most likely not necessary but I would rather you were protected in at least _some_ fashion."

"I have my service revolver. Muggles know what guns are and how they work. Vernon Dursley can't do anything to me. I'm a police detective. In the Muggle world, in America, you kill a law enforcement officer of any standing, particularly detective or higher, you get the death penalty. I'm an American citizen and because of that Dursley would be extradited to New York to face charges for my murder. They'd put a hotshot in his arm—Sodium thiopental or Pentothal, which is a barbiturate and would put him to sleep, followed by Pancuronium bromide or Pavulon, but tubocurarine chloride and succinylcholine chloride can both be used alternately, followed by saline which flushes out the intravenous line, and finally toxic agent and/or potassium chloride, which is what would actually kill the prisoner—"

"Bobby," Alex, now quite pale, cut him off. "No one wants to hear about the exact procedure of the death penalty. And I don't think Dursley's stupid enough to kill us. If you go wearing what you normally do to work, being Muggle clothes and our badges, he'll know we're police detectives and _hopefully_ he won't try anything really stupid."

"In which case, I will destroy him," Bobby muttered, putting the letter in an inside pocket of his robes and looking back at Dumbledore. "I would appreciate custody of Harry, if he says it's alright, when this is all over."

"I will certainly try my best," Professor Dumbledore promised. "You have my word."

Bobby smiled a little.

* * *

To take this handgun to my eyes  
And watch my cells start to rise  
The flesh now starts to break as the  
Bullet enters like a snake  
Through one side of my head  
And out the other one

* * *

12:34 pm  
4 Privet Drive  
Little Whinging  
Surrey, England 

Alex tried not to frown as Professor Snape followed herself and Bobby up the Dursley house front walk. Bobby had spent a good five minutes examining the low garden wall in the front simply because 'they don't have walls this low in America.' She was slightly annoyed with him as a result, but she was used to his curiosity so Bobby wasn't nearly as bad as Professor Snape, who continued picking at the Muggle suit he was wearing, frowning.

"If you don't like it, just go back," Alex had told him at the tailor's in London. "Tell the headmaster you couldn't stand one measly suit long for a few hours. And never mind Harry's safety; the kid can fend for himself. It's not like he hasn't been doing it for fifteen years or anything."

Snape had wrinkled his nose in discomfort, but had stopped picking at his clothing then. Now he was at it once more.

"Is this truly necessary?" He just about whined. "Couldn't I have just met you at the gate when you returned?"

Alex stopped and gave him a look. "You think we _wanted_ you to come with us? Bobby doesn't want you anywhere near Harry—or me, for that matter, since I feel this intense need to shoot you whenever I set eyes on you. I, of course, can't disagree. I don't want you anywhere either of them. Unhappiness all around, so just suck it up and deal."

"Do you both have to bring those...'things that go bang', or whatever you said?"

Alex smirked, "Guns? Yeah, see, we actually are police officers. These are Glocks—specifically the law enforcement model—issued to us, along with our badges, by the New York City Police Department. Both mine and Bobby's are 18Cs, 9x19 mm and, again, we _do_ go the firing range every month. You keep insulting us or Harry, you're going to wind up with a bullet in your chest or somewhere; and I can't guarantee you'll live. You might want to think about that, Professor Snape."

Snape frowned and waited a few seconds before backing slowly away. Alex smiled and turned back around to see Bobby examining the opaque glass blocks lining the Dursleys' front door.

"Bobby, stop looking at things and ring the doorbell." Walking up to stand next to her partner, Alex pulled out her badge. Bobby already had his out and was clutching it in his left hand. Alex supposed this was an effort not to pull out his gun instead.

Bobby did as she asked and they waited as a woman's blurry form came walking up to the door before opening it. Alex marveled at the safety this rather skinny blonde haired woman must have felt she had not even to look through the peephole. Then she remembered they were a long way from New York City.

"Yes?"

Bobby hadn't bothered to say anything, thinking he didn't trust himself to speak. Alex, sensing his discomfort, filled in. "Ma'am, we're Detectives Goren, Eames, and...Snape—"

Faintly, she registered Bobby's body tensing as he held back a laugh.

"Of the New York City Major Case Squad and London Police Department. We're doing a joint investigation of the trail of a multimillion dollar theft in New York with the London Police. The perpetrators' trail seems to lead through here."

Instantly, the blonde haired woman's face registered horror and she glanced nervously around as though the thieves were walking up the street in broad daylight. Bobby resisted the effort to roll his eyes.

"We were wondering if you had any clues that could aid us in our investigation."

That was went Bobby decided to elaborate, noting the way Petunia Dursley had immediately begun glaring all around the neighborhood. "We heard from the police in the village that you were a frequent caller with crime tips."

Petunia looked at him and smiled with obvious pride. "Oh, why thank you, Detective." Then her face fell. "But I'm afraid I've no information for you—"

Bobby noticed movement in the background and glanced inside the house. There Harry was coming down the stairs in clothes too big for his frame. The boy saw what was going on at the front door and became curious. Restraining himself, Bobby focused back on Petunia, who was still yammering on about the fabricated story. She paused for breath and Bobby took advantage.

"Well, maybe we could ask you-your son if he—"

"He isn't my son," Petunia said dourly, frowning. The boy, around five foot, ten inches, looked as though he wanted nothing to do with anything his aunt was involved in. Bobby found himself in agreement. "He's my nephew and he's not seen anything unusual." She flashed him an angry look as though she was sure this sort of high-end law-breaking was something _his kind_ was certainly involved in.

"Well," Alex said, smiling thinly up at the taller woman. "We'd just like to ask him a few questions, anyway, just to be sure."

Petunia frowned slightly and turned around to go back to the kitchen, but not before shooting Harry a look that promised he'd receive due punishment if it had anything at all to do with him.

Harry was now staring at Snape in utter shock, who—for his part—was staring stonily back.

Alex took a breath and waited until the irritating woman was gone before speaking. "Hello, Harry, I'm Detectives Eames. This is Detective Goren. I think you already know who this guy is."

"Professor Snape?" Harry said quietly, his green eyes narrowing in confusion. His Potions teacher was dressed in a Muggle suit, his long hair tied back in a ponytail. It was a rather disconcerting image. "Um, sir, w-what're you doing in Little Whinging with Muggle detectives from the United States?"

"I expect they can answer that question for themselves, Potter," Snape said darkly and Bobby rotated quickly to glare at him.

"You will use Harry's first name while we're not at the school and treat him with respect. I could always let Alex make good on her threats. It'd be very easy to cover up and I'm sure Harry, here, certainly wouldn't mind."

Despite the fact that he still had no real idea who the detectives were, Harry grinned before catching himself. "Er, um, detectives...who are you two and what are you doing in Little Whinging with my—" His voice dropped to a whisper. "Potions teacher?"

_Ah_, Alex thought, glancing at Bobby. _Now the fun starts._

* * *

And I can barely look at you  
But every single time I do  
I know we'll make it anywhere  
Anywhere from here

* * *

2:45 pm  
Downtown Little Whinging  
Main End 

"So, you're not a Death Eater, which is true because you don't have the Dark Mark, you're really my uncle and you've been in New York my whole life and had no idea I existed. Then, two days ago, you accidentally Apparated in your sleep and wound up at The Three Broomsticks in Hogmeade in your boxers, Alex is your partner at the New York City Major Case Squad, you didn't know you were a wizard, Hagrid told you about me and my parents, Madam Pomfrey made you take Dreamless Sleep potion and you slept for almost thirty hours, Madam Malkins gave you a set of robes, there's a dead girl's body that was found behind The Hog's Head and you want to investigate her murder, and my dad was your little brother."

Bobby smiled at Harry, laughing slightly. "You heard everything I said, didn't you?"

Harry smiled sheepishly. "I've never really had a problem with recall. Just with paying attention to the whole picture instead of the details that make it up."

Alex let out a loud false cough and Bobby rolled his eyes. "My partner here believes that runs in our family. Unfortunately, though, we'll never find out. On the bright side, she wants to shoot Snape for badmouthing all of us."

Harry smiled a little before glancing at an irritable Snape and straightening his face.

Alex frowned and glared at Snape. "You can laugh, Harry. As we've told Snape several times now, we—and especially you—deserve to be treated with respect and we'll get it with words or we'll get it with guns. It's his choice."

"So you guys are really good at shooting and stuff?" Harry asked, slightly apprehensive.

"Yeah, but we'd never shoot you...Snape, again, is another story."

This time Harry snorted.

"There's a boy," Alex said amiably, chucking him on the shoulder.

"So since there's not really any bank heist or whatever, you two totally lied to my aunt," Harry mused, looking at the sign painted on the shop window they were passing. "How're you going to cover that up?"

Bobby shrugged. "Doesn't matter. Either way, Dumbledore had this letter for you."

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the letter before handing it to Harry, who ripped open the envelope and read it.

_Dear Harry,_

_I am sincerely hoping this letter finds you well. I am certain that you find the news that you have an adult relative on your father's side to be rather disconcerting. I assure you, he means you absolutely no harm, nor is he a Death Eater. He and his partner, Alexandra Eames, are detectives with the New York Police Department's Major Case Squad. Bobby has gone his entire life not knowing that he was a wizard. Professor McGonagall and I both found this to be quite unappealing and wish to have him tutored, as it were, in the magic he should have learned to use long ago. He will be at Hogwarts for at least a few months and wishes for yourself and, possibly, Ms. Granger and Mr. Weasley to join him. Further to the events of one month ago, Ms. Weasley, Ms. Lovegood, and Mr. Longbottom may join you, as well, if that is your desire._

_Professor Snape is there because he was the only teacher who could accompany Bobby and Alex to your present location. Also, I would like to personally have a word with your aunt so it would be preferable if she could accompany you temporarily back to Hogwarts, as well. I daresay she shouldn't object, given Bobby's actual occupation in the Muggle world, which he will continue to retain._

_Sincerely,_

_Professor Dumbledore_

"Dumbledore says that if I come back to school, my friends can all join me," Harry said slowly, looking up at Bobby. The older man was clearly anxious, thinking that Harry would refuse point blank to go anywhere with him. Harry realized he could see a little of his father and, indeed, himself in Bobby's expression and, of course, the waywardness of his greying hair.

"Uh, yeah, he-he told me that before we left. Uh, I have to ask...is Filch always like that or is it just me?"

Harry laughed, grinning. "He's a git, isn't he?"

Behind her, Alex felt Snape tense. Turning around she frowned at him. "Look, just because Harry insulted your boyfriend—"

Bobby and Harry both burst out laughing at the expression that crossed Snape's face. "He is n-not my—"

"Well, shut up, then," Alex snapped, turning back around to face the two wizards she actually liked. "So, do you think we'll need a subpoena for this? Or maybe a warrant?"

Bobby smiled a bit. "I don't think so, but if it comes up we could definitely get one from Deakins."

Harry wanted to ask who Deakins was, but thought it wasn't any of his business.

"Captain James Deakins is our boss, Harry," Bobby clarified, noting the young man's questioning expression. "You'll meet him eventually, I guess. He went back to New York the morning we got here. I have to wonder what kind of cover story he came up with."

"As long as it doesn't get us fired, I'm fine with it," Alex said and they began walking back to the Dursley house.

It's hard to notice gleaming from the sky  
When you're staring at the cracks  
It's hard to notice what is passing by with eyes lowered

"So you guys solve murder cases and stuff like that?" Harry asked, licking the strawberry and peanut butter ice cream cone Bobby had bought him with British muggle money Professor Dumbledore had given him before he, Alex, and Snape had left Hogwarts. They were currently wandering around Little Whinging, touring Harry's favorite places.

"Yeah," Alex said, eating a spoonful of her own bowl of the same flavor ice cream. Harry had recommended the flavor and if it hadn't been for his enthusiastic praises, she never would've eaten it. It had been surprisingly good and she was on her second bowl. If Snape hadn't been there it would've qualified as an excellent afternoon. _Oh well, one can't have everything, I suppose...damn it... _"And don't look so excited, it's horrible what people do to each other. Of course, the only part your uncle really enjoys is examining the crime scene, not to mention the bodies."

Harry choked on his ice cream and, laughing, Alex whacked him on the back. Swallowing uneasily, Harry looked at Bobby, noting that Snape was doing the same, his sallow face twisted in a grimace.

"You _like_ examining dead bodies?"

Bobby frowned at Snape, who he had an increasing urge to punch. "Yes, Harry, I like being with dead bodies better than most people. It's much easier."

"Yes, such lovely bedside manner," Alex grinned."Our ME—our medical examiner is the same way, and as giddy as Bobby gets during autopsy follow-ups, I think he should've been one, too."

"No way," Bobby pouted. "I like solving cases much better. And, besides, I don't like _cutting up_ bodies. I just like the results. Key words: _follow-ups._"

"Oh, don't tell me you're squeamish. Remember back before I went on maternity leave and you were poking your finger in that hit man's head wound?"

"You told me that if I kept doing that you were going to drop that kid right there."

Harry stopped and spun around, goggling at his uncle. "You stuck your finger in some guy's head wound?" He was pale now. "Eurgh, that's...awful."

"He was dead; he wasn't going to feel it. And, anyway, I did it for a reason. There was a pattern engraved in his skin from the walking stick used to bash in his skull. It was from the globe shaped knob on the top end of the stick."

Harry shuddered. "Do I even want to know what you do in your free time?"

"What free time?" Alex snorted. "I have to bribe him to take lunch breaks. He's a total workaholic."

Harry grinned and finished eating the cone, smashing the rest of it into his mouth. Snape scowled again and Harry swallowed and looked at Bobby. "Did Snape have to come? He hates me."

Bobby frowned and rolled his eyes. "He hates me, too, of course. Dumbledore said he was the only one who could do it, but at this point I'd've preferred McGonagall a thousand times more. And _she _keeps glaring at me and Alex. I think she thinks we're immature."

"You both act like first years," Snape bit out, leaning forward and poking Bobby in the chest again. "Honestly, I have to wonder how Americans view work standards if you two are New York's finest. I can't see how anyone would've asked for either of you."

"Really, well, here's a little suggestion for you: Get a grip. I am not James Potter. I am Robert Goren. I am not my brother. Harry is not his father. Since when has Harry ever done anything to you, and I'm sorry, but that time last year with the Pensieve in your office doesn't count. In case you hadn't noticed, Harry was horrified at his father's actions. But you, intent on vengeance as you were, took your rage out on him and subsequently went out of your way to make him fail his fifth year. And if you continue to treat him the way you have, you'll have to answer to us and I assure you, I won't be above cursing you."

Harry, Alex, and Snape were all staring at Bobby, who had stopped talking and was now blinking.

"H-how did you know about the Pensieve?" Harry asked quietly, his face white and a sharp contrast to the flush of red in Bobby's.

"I-I don't know," Bobby answered truthfully. Taking a deep breath, he bit his lip. "I don't know how I knew."

"Maybe you're a natural at Legilimency," Harry suggested, his voice rather uneasy. He glanced at Snape. "And, you know, Occlumency? That's what Snape was supposed to teach me last year, but he threw me out of his office."

"That's what he'll continue to teach you," Bobby said flatly, gripping his service revolver again and turning back to Snape, who was glaring angrily at him. "Or did nothing I just said penetrate that hateful skull of yours at all? Harry is not James. I am not James. It is neither mine nor his fault that he humiliated you like that. If I'd been there, I would've defended you because no one deserves to be treated like that. And you're not exactly innocent, yourself, you know. We're not proud of James, but we do know that you retaliated in every case, _and _you called Harry's mother a Mudblood, both of which make you just as bad—"

Snape stood up to protest, but Bobby cut him off. "Lily Evans cared enough about you and your situation to attempt to offer you aid against James Potter and what did you do? You called her a _Mudblood_, as if blood matters. As if she owed you something; she didn't owe you a damned thing. Instead of backing off and ignoring the injustice of what James was doing to you, she stood up for you because she knew what was being done to you was wrong. You ungrateful little bastard, you said 'fuck you' and threw it and her heritage back in her face. What now? I'm a muggleborn. You gonna throw mine at me? What about Harry? He's a half-blood. Is that a problem, too? From what I hear, being pure-blooded isn't always as cracked up as it seems. All these pure-blooded families going around supporting a hypocritical psychopath who gets his rocks off killing people who he thinks aren't good enough. I've been doing some reading on your old buddy, _Tom Riddle_. He's a half-blood, too. His father was a muggle and a deadbeat, just like my dad. Do you see me going around killing and torturing people and destroying as many lives as I can? As far as I'm concerned, Harry doesn't owe you one fucking thing so leave him the hell alone."

Stopping abruptly, Bobby leaned back against the newspaper stack he stood in front of. Smiling to herself, Alex returned to her ice cream. Harry, still very pale, watched his uncle eating his ice cream as though he hadn't just lectured Snape on proper interpersonal relations between students and teachers. No one but Sirius had ever defended him against Snape before. To his surprise, he felt some of the pain of the last month lift somewhat. Smiling a little, he looked at Bobby, who was watching him as though he were an interesting television program.

"Er, Uncle Bobby?"

Bobby grinned and rocked back and forth on his rather large feet. "Yeah, Harry?"

"When can we leave?"

"Stand back," Alex joked, pushing Harry away from Bobby. "I think he may explode from the happiness."

Bobby, still smiling, laughed and rolled his eyes.

"As soon as we talk to Petunia."

Harry grinned back.

* * *

As I... walked away, heard them say  
"Poisoned hearts will never change"  
Walked away again  
Turned away in disgrace  
Felt the chill upon my face cooling from within

* * *

"So let me get this straight," Vernon Dursley said, standing up from his seat at his kitchen table. "You're going to put me under arrest for _child abuse_?" 

"That's the plan," Alex said flatly, frowning at this big, blustery man who acted like an evil, far more smug version of Carver. "See, it's a felony to keep a child in a closet."

"Then," Bobby bit out, trying his best to control his temper. "There's the malnutrition and neglect, and verbal, physical, and mental abuse. Plus, we just don't like you."

"But," Petunia was standing next to the counter wringing her hands. Dudley stood next to her, his eyes huge and fearful, his hands clamped over his large bottom. "Does Vernon have to go to jail?"

"You kept him in a _closet!_" Bobby yelled, slamming the hand holding his binder down on the table. Everyone but Alex jumped. Dudley whimpered, afraid of this man who was even bigger than his father. "He's a boy, not a pair of boots, you—"

"Goren," Alex cut him off, taking his arm and leading him out into the hall. "Calm down." She took a deep breath. "Look, Bobby, why don't you go help Harry pack? It'll keep you from committing felony first degree murder."

Sighing angrily, Bobby turned and went up the carpeted stairs, attempting to ignore the fact that the Dursley's son's room was stocked full of frivolous junk he knew perfectly well was not necessary for a sixteen-year-old boy's health. "Spoiled brat," Bobby growled under his breath, walking further down to Harry's bedroom, the door of which was open. Harry was nearly finished packing, it seemed.

"Hi, Uncle Bobby," Harry said, a faint red tinge coming to his face. He didn't want Bobby to see that his room wasn't as nice as Dudley's. "Um, sorry about all this."

"You have nothing to be sorry about, Harry," Bobby said, sitting down at his nephew's desk and taking a deep breath. "We're putting Vernon Dursley under arrest."

Harry's head swiveled around and he goggled at Bobby. "You are?"

"He abused you. Petunia will probably get probation as she's being charged with being an accessory, but Vernon's getting jail time. I'm going to see personally to that."

Harry opened his mouth, but Bobby gave him a look. "Did he beat you with anything other than his hand?"

Sighing, Harry looked down at the floor and nodded. "Yeah, sometimes, he did; but not since I started Hogwarts."

Bobby laughed ruefully and the sound of it made the hairs on the back of Harry's neck stand up. It was rather creepy, actually. "They're afraid of you and your powers. Afraid they'll all wake up as kumquats or something."

Despite his fear, Harry laughed, as well. "No, they're not. They know underage wizards aren't allowed to use magic outside school."

"Doesn't matter, Harry, it's a psychological thing. You can do things they can't. They can't control you anymore and they've been afraid all this time of when you were going to figure that out. Then they wouldn't be able to do anything to you anymore because you're stronger than they are. You've been through terrible ordeals that they can't begin to comprehend. No one truly can. You were the victim of attempted first-degree murder when you were only one year old! It's not as though many other people can say that. And everything else you've been through. You're only sixteen years old and you've been kidnapped, possessed, manipulated, and had three of the worst curses ever invented performed on you! You've watched people you've loved and cared for taken from you one by one."

Harry felt his stomach clench as the memory of Sirius's body falling through the arch in the Death Room flashed behind his eyes.

"It's not fair for anyone to have anything like that forced on them. I was seven years old when my father left. I've taken care of myself since then. I wanted to ask if you wanted to live with me because I know what it's like to have your only family torn from you and t be placed in an unfamiliar environment in the name of personal safety. I hated living with foster families. I wanted to go back to my mom because that was all I knew. I was the only one who took care of her because my father, your grandfather, was never around. He's dead now. But the point is, that's not normal. I wasn't supposed to have to take care of my mother. It was supposed to be the other way around. But I dealt with it, and you're dealing with this. You and I are lucky because we could easily be in much worse situations. I could be in an asylum and you could be in some shelter, drifting through foster care. I did that for a while and I would never wish that on you."

Then Bobby thought, "But, of course, I would never wish Vernon Dursley on you either. Or Severus Snape, for that matter. But the point is, I want to take care of you and try to make sure your remaining childhood is as happy as I can make it. I want to do that for you because you're family and you deserve it."

Harry sighed and resumed putting things in his trunk. "I just don't want to be a burden."

"You are not a burden. Don't ever let anyone make you think that. You are a human being and deserve health and happiness, just like everyone else. I know it's hard. The same goes for me."

Alex knocked on the door and stuck her head inside. "Dursley's cuffed and Petunia's sobbing all over the kitchen table. The Dursley kid's ready to pee his pants. I think we should take them back to Hogwarts until we can get everything squared away. I guess Dumbledore plans on letting Petunia use a Portkey to get back home."

"Hey," Harry said, as though he'd only just thought of it. "How're we getting to Hogwarts, anyway?"

"Dumbledore gave us our own Portkeys," Bobby answered. "They're timed to leave at five o'clock. It's—" He checked his watch, which he'd calibrated the previous day. "Four-fifty, so we better get back downstairs. Got everything?"

Harry nodded and Bobby helped him carry his trunk down to the kitchen. Harry felt the happy balloon feeling from when he was eleven return full-force when he realized he'd never have to return to Privet Drive again. Before he could stop himself, he let out a bark of laughter.

"Giddy, are we?" Alex asked, smiling and ruffling Harry's already unruly hair.

Smiling in response, Harry turned back around and concentrated on maneuvering his trunk into the kitchen.

"Right," Alex said, taking hers and Petunia's Portkey, an inkwell, out of her pocket and holding it out. "Touch this. We'll be leaving in a second."

Bobby pulled his Portkey, a Muggle ballpoint inkpen, out of his pocket and held it out to Harry, who touched it with resignation. "I really don't like these things."

"Neither do I, but it's worth it, wouldn't you say?"

Harry nodded, smiling again.

Behind them, Snape held his, a broken wing from a model airplane, out to Vernon Dursley, who was handcuffed and restrained at wandpoint and forced to touch it from behind.

"Oh joy," Alex said, as the clock on the wall struck five o'clock. "And here I thought nausea ended with giving birth. Bleargh."

Bobby snickered and then everything bent out of shape...

* * *

Like someone called my name  
but I didn't care to look that way  
I just fixed my eyes into the crowd  
it would have been strange to turn around

* * *

...tbc... 


	6. New Beginnings and Old Endings a

**Ominous  
**_By Angelfirenze_

**Disclaimer:** Dick Wolf and J.K. Rowling own damned near everything and everyone. It is pointless to attempt to sue me. You will get nothing, as I am merely a L&O:CI and HP loving college student. Anyone you don't recognize belongs to me. There are always lyrics somewhere in all of my stories. They probably will come from Incubus, Radiohead, Straylight Run, Thursday, and My Chemical Romance, just to name a few. Also, I should say that Beka's fic, 'The Art of Being a Kept Woman,' inspired the title. It's my most favorite of hers. Includes quotes and partial quotes from chapter one of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, chapter one, 'Dudley Demented.'

**Summary:** "Did you ever notice that your already traumatized nephew was being abused at the hands of your husband and—formerly—your son? Did you ever notice that your son, who you claim to care so much about, hasn't eaten or slept properly in almost a _year_?"

**Pairings:** Bobby/Alex, of course, and since there are going to be students at the school now I have to include other pairings; but those won't be revealed just yet. However, I will give you a clue: One won't be a pairing, actually, but rather an OT3. That's practically a dead giveaway, actually...

**Timeline:** Post-'Collective,' pre-'Stress Position,' since I don't feel like dealing with Logan just yet. And I know 'Collective', etc. probably takes place during a winter month, but let's pretend it didn't, okay? Also, I'd like to add parts one through six of my fic, 'Fighting Oblivion,' but have to omit part seven because obviously Nikki Dearest isn't dead. sighs and wishes the vote hadn't been so obviously _rigged_...those cockups...

**Rating: R** for...stuff. It'll probably start climbing to medium to hard R in the coming chapters. Nothing overtly NC-17, but those underage should govern themselves accordingly. Anyone who's underage and wants to archive this at their website should let me know so I can take all the R and up stuff out. Thanks!

**Archive:** At Amorous Intent, of course, though I realized I forgot to put it in the other five chapters. hides head in shame

**Inspiration: **Water Mage's story 'Stars Not in Heaven,' specifically the fact that Buffy and Harry were given their own quarters for the summer.

**A/N:** I know that J.K. said that Dudley was just a Muggle, but damn it, I just don't think that's fair. And, anyway, this is _my_ fic and it's AU, so oh freaking well. sticks out tongue with accompanying mutinous glare

Part VI: New Beginnings and Old Endings (a)

* * *

My name is Wepeel  
I gotta box full of your toys  
They're fresh out of batteries  
But they're still makin' noise (makin' noise)  
Tell me what to do  
Now the tank is dry  
Now this wheel is flat  
And you know what else?  
Guess what I received  
In the mail today  
Words of deep concern  
From my little brother

* * *

Bobby felt his feet slam into the ground for the third time that day and found himself very close to falling over. If he could help it he was never taking a Portkey ever again. It occurred to him that he could already Apparate, from what Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore had told him and what he'd already read on the subject. Bobby sighed, feeling the last vestiges of dizziness fading away at last. Well, at least he didn't have to deal with that. Now he had to do some research on Legilmency and Occlumency to find out exactly what that was. It sounded like fun. 

He looked around Dumbledore's office and then glanced at Harry to be certain that his nephew wasn't harmed or injured. The dark haired boy seemed fine other than a slight green tinge to his face, but Bobby wanted to check him over anyway to make sure he wasn't in shock. However, he was interrupted by Dumbledore's appearance with Hedwig sitting placidly on his shoulder. As soon as the white owl saw Harry, she took off and flew across the room before she landed gently on Harry's outstretched arm. Stroking her with his finger, Harry glanced at the headmaster.

"Hello, Professor," he said quietly, his nausea calmed somewhat by Dumbledore's presence. It was odd, but he found it rather difficult to be very put out with the headmaster right now. His euphoria at meeting his other uncle hadn't abated just yet.

"Hello, Harry," Dumbledore's deep, aged voice said as he walked over to where the large group of people stood. "I trust you received my letter as well as an explanation as to Bobby's sudden appearance in your life?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said, letting Hedwig fly out the window and back to the owlery. "Thanks for letting me come back."

"It's nothing at all. I feel I owe both of you as much." He looked at Bobby, who frowned momentarily before walking over to Snape and taking the handcuffed Vernon Dursley from the Potions master's grasp. Alex, still slightly green herself, stepped forward and strode back over to Dumbledore with Bobby.

"My partner and I have placed Vernon and Petunia Dursley under arrest for child abuse and being an accessory to child abuse," Alex said, gesturing to an unhandcuffed Petunia, who was still wiping tears from her pale face. Her son was gaping at the ornate instruments sitting all around the office, as well as the paintings on the wall, who were sitting quietly, paying absolute attention to the proceedings. "We're not planning on asking our district attorney or the one in London for any sort of deal. We want to see jail time for Mr. Dursley; preferably a lot of it."

Bobby turned suddenly and strode, hands in his pockets, over to the window Hedwig had flown out of. The sky outside was shining brightly with summer sunlight; it wouldn't be getting dark for several more hours yet. Noting his uncle's straight backed walk, Harry sighed and walked over to join him.

Alex frowned and walked up to Dumbledore, motioning for Petunia, her husband, and the current bane of her existence to follow her. Snape frowned as well, but did as he was asked.

"Did you find a way to transfer Harry's protection?" she asked quietly, glancing over at Harry and Bobby, both standing silently in their black and blue clothing. Before they'd gone back to Privet Drive, Bobby had all but forced Harry to take them to clothing stores so that they could buy him new ones. The old clothes he'd had previously had been bundled up and given to the British version of Goodwill. His shoes, though, had been falling apart so Bobby had insisted Harry throw them away. He was now wearing a new and very sturdy black and medium dark blue pair that he'd seen in a Muggle skateboarding magazine. It seemed that Harry had been interested in skateboarding for a long time, but as there was no skateboarding in the wizarding world and because he played Quidditch, he hadn't seen any reason to pursue that particular interest. Bobby and Alex, of course, had disagreed and went out and bought him one. The skateboard was sitting in his trunk with all his other possessions.

Dumbledore looked solemnly at both the elder Dursleys and their son before answering. "I did."

"So you're going to be all stoic telling us?" Alex said in an excited whisper. "This is great..." Then she thought for a moment. "What's the catch?"

Dumbledore sighed, "It involves blood."

Alex sighed and glanced at both Bobby and his nephew. "Then you know you might have a bit of a problem."

"Why would there be a problem?" Snape queried, his voice low and thick with irritation. "This is what Potter and Goren both want isn't it? Can't they make up their bloody minds?"

Alex gave him a withering look. "Shut. Up. I'm only going to say that once more." Her tone of warning was enough to make Snape's breath hitch slightly. He paled.

"That's better," she said, turning back to Dumbledore. "And speaking of bloody, Harry told us about what that Darth Vader wannabe's minion did to him. He even showed us the scar Wormtail's knife left in his arm. And Bobby..." she trailed off unhappily.

"What about Goren?" Snape asked, barely managing to keep the malice out of his voice.

Alex smiled wanly. "Sev, that's for me to know and you never to find out."

"I would prefer you called me Professor or, at the very least, Severus," Snape responded, wishing he could just curse her and be done with it.

"Now, Sev, why would I do something like that? That might make people think I respect you and we can't have _that_." Alex patted Snape on the shoulder and turned to face Harry and Bobby.

"Hey, Harry, come tell the headmaster whether or not you want your friends to come back here to join our merry little party."

She distinctly saw Bobby grin and instantly felt a million times better. The boy in question walked over, now dressed in a crisp dark blue t-shirt with a grey trim and dark blue cargo shorts, with Bobby and grinned brightly. "Of course, I do."

Alex grinned and turned back to Dumbledore, who smiled back. "I guess you've got more letters to write."

Bobby turned and looked at Harry, pointing with his left index out of the window down toward the lake. "That's the Whomping Willow, right?"

Harry hurried back over to see what he was talking about. Sighing, he said, "Yeah. It leads to the Shrieking Shack."

Beside Alex, Professor Snape frowned. "Not that you should _know_ that, Potter," he groused, inwardly relieved that they were back at the school and he was now able to address Potter however he pleased...however, secretly he was quite glad they'd been able to get the boy away from his horrible relatives, who were clearly the worst sort of Muggles and had no business having any children at all, let alone one like Harry Potter. "You wouldn't if it weren't for your insatiable appetite for breaking rules. And I can already tell that I'm going to thoroughly dislike teaching Goren, as well."

"If you think I'm going to enjoy being taught by you, you can forget that," Bobby responded without turning around. Then he thought of something and turned to face the headmaster like everyone else.

"Er, Professor Dumbledore. I know I've been sleeping in the hospital wing for the last three days, but I'm not going to stay there, am I?"

And that led to Harry thinking of something, as well, "And am I going to sleep in the dormitory with Ron and Neville while I'm here? Is Uncle Bobby?"

"I thought about that while you were in Surrey. I surmised it would be best if you and your partner were given your own quarters, apart from the main Houses. And Harry will stay there, as well, for the summer if that is his wish."

Smiling brightly, Harry pumped his fist. "Yes! This is brilliant! I get my own room here!" Behind him, Bobby chuckled at his nephew's exuberance, now cheered back up. He looked at Alex, who seemed very amused by how excited Harry was. She looked pointedly at Bobby and pointed from Harry to him, mouthing the words, 'You're exactly the same way.' Bobby grinned.

Then Harry looked at the Dursleys, who were all cowering off to the side. Uncle Vernon's handcuffs were starting to rub his wrists raw, Harry noticed, but he seemed uncharacteristically inclined to complain.

"In fact," Professor Dumbledore said cheerfully. "We should go now if I am to show you where these quarters are located. Wouldn't you agree, Professor Snape?"

Snape looked as though he wanted to tell the headmaster otherwise, but nodded stiffly and walked out of the room, his robes billowing behind him.

"I swear," Alex said, rolling her eyes. "A fashion model walks with less attitude."

Harry and Bobby both snorted.

* * *

Open the past and present  
Now and we are there  
Story to tell and I am listening  
Open the past and present  
And the future too  
It's all I've got and I'm giving it up to you

* * *

Their new quarters, as it turned out, were located halfway between the location of Gryffindor Tower and the library. The rooms were concealed behind an ornate tapestry of a cityscape somewhere in what looked like downtown Manhattan, complete with taxis and angry drivers, honking silent horns and yelling wordlessly in what were surely many different languages. It stood out drastically from the décor around it and Bobby loved it. Alex bit her lip to contain her laughter. 

"I think you're being spoiled," she told Bobby, who grinned and asked the headmaster how to get behind it.

"You simply have to say the password," Dumbledore told them, handing Bobby, Alex, and Harry identical slips of parchment bearing the word, _misdemeanor._ "I daresay it will be easy for you to remember?"

Bobby realized that his mouth was starting to hurt from all the smiling he was doing, but he couldn't stop.

Together, the occupants of the rooms looked at the tapestry and said, "Misdemeanor."

The tapestry shivered and revealed a transparent gateway for them to step through. Once inside, they looked around. It was like a mixture of both Bobby's and Alex's apartments, with books in nearly every room and a large, spacious kitchen for cooking. In Harry's bedroom, he found a large featherbed with medium dark blue sheets with a black trim and a black bedspread. Harry found himself wondering how they'd figured out what his favorite colors were. All the furniture was varnished and shiny, despite its blackish color. On the fully stocked desk was...

"I have a _laptop_ computer?" Harry asked, hurrying over to it and sitting down. He'd wanted one for years, ever since before Dudley had gotten his desktop. Whenever he'd been able to, back when he was in primary school, he'd stay after as long as he dared, working on the computers in the library. He'd known the Dursleys never would've bought him one of his own so he used the school's computers instead. He'd gotten rather proficient at using html and other programs, but then he came to Hogwarts and hadn't had regular access to one since then.

"Thank your uncle," Dumbledore told him, smiling genially at Bobby. "And Professor Flitwick, as well, seeing as it runs on magic instead of electricity."

Grinning brightly, Harry almost sat down to try it out. But he remembered that they still hadn't seen the other rooms, particularly Bobby's and Alex's.

"Glad to see you appreciate it," Bobby chuckled, clapping his hand on Harry's shoulder.

Sighing wistfully, Harry followed the others into Bobby's temporary bedroom. Immediately, Alex burst into laughter. There were no windows, the entire room being almost certainly bathed in darkness as soon as one closed the door. In addition, there was another laptop that matched Harry's sitting at a desk very similar to Harry's on the far side of the room. Smiling, Bobby sat down on the bed, removed his shoes, and lay down, his hands folded across his stomach. Waving vaguely, he muttered for Alex to close the door behind them, please, on their way out. The detective in question smacked her partner on the shoulder.

"Get up, now. You look like you're at your own funeral. And you've never cared about sleeping before, so why start now? Your bedroom at home is almost exactly the same. I don't know why you can't sleep normally like everyone else. Oddball." But she was smiling all the same.

Bobby's eyes popped open, his mouth turning up into a white-toothed grin. "I may be an oddball, but you love me anyway." He rolled onto his stomach, getting up on all fours.

"I really should give you a swift kick right now while I have the chance."

"Alex," he started, before finishing the sentence in rapidly spoken Spanish. Alex's eyes widened and she walked forward and grabbed Bobby by the collar.

"Very funny. Get up, you sick bastard. Now." But she was grinning.

Pouting, Bobby stood up again, making a face at Alex before striding out of the room, dragging his feet on the carpet. Rolling her eyes again, Alex followed him out into the living room where she found him examining the bookcase.

"So you're not talking to me anymore?" She asked, smiling at him.

"No...and that response doesn't count. Nor did that one."

"Uh-huh. Yeah, yeah, Sherlock. All I ask is that you _behave _for once. Deakins asked the same thing, remember? _Behave._"

"Is that an order?"

"Yes, sir, it is—about face."

Unconsciously, Bobby turned around to face her before realizing what he did.

"Damned Army training," he complained, frowning as Harry snickered. "And that was a low blow. Do I go getting leopard print miniskirts and tube tops for you to wear like when you were undercover in Vice?"

"No, you just mock and tease me with Bishop," Alex countered, looking at him pointedly.

"I did not mock you. Just tease. And anyway, look who's talking; who the hell is supposed to know what sorts of prices strip clubs charge? That's unhealthy."

"What's _unhealthy_ is being able to easily calculate the inflation charges _per year _for a kilo of heroin, Detective 'I-Worked-In-Narcotics-For-Two-Years.' You were around all kinds of drugs and whatnot. Who's to say the pungent aroma all that crap didn't go to your brain?"

"Touché," Bobby accepted, looking at Harry, who was staring at the both of them, wide-eyed.

"What?"

"I guess I never thought about what kinds of terribly dangerous things the police do," he answered, swallowing. "I mean, drugs and prostitutes...and you guys probably get shot at. Being surrounded by death all the time can't be terribly exciting. And I'm guessing for you guys to work in Major Case, you've got to be around some really bad people and you've seen...depravity. I can't describe it any other way."

Alex stared at Harry before looking at Bobby, "Okay, I'm starting to see more familial resemblance than I'd like to. I swear this kid is sixteen going on thirty-five. But, then again..."

"No, I'm not," Harry said, smiling reluctantly. "Just ask Snape, I'm nothing but a spoiled, whiny little brat in his eyes."

"He didn't mean that," Alex said with certainty, eyeing Snape darkly. "Especially not with the way he knows Vernon Dursley treated you. He's going to be a lot different from now on to you _and_ your friends."

Inhaling sharply, Snape said nothing. He only glared at Vernon Dursley, who was now a pale, porridge color in his handcuffs.

Harry watched Snape glaring at Uncle Vernon, a little perplexed as to what he saw on the professor's face. Certainly he'd've been dancing with glee after seeing the Great Harry Potter get what he deserved. Instead, Snape was eyeing Uncle Vernon angrily. He would have to put some more thought into it—

Then his stomach growled.

But not before he ate dinner.

* * *

His dreams are like commercials  
But her dreams are picture perfect and  
Our dreams are so related though they're often underestimated

* * *

"So you actually went into a hostage situation with _no backup_ and _no bulletproof_ _vest_?" Harry was staring at Bobby with a forkful of corned beef suspended halfway between his mouth and his plate. He'd forgotten all about it. Alex laughed and reminded Harry about his food, which the young wizard ate quickly, his eyes still glued to his uncle's face. 

"Yes, he did," she assured Harry, whose mouth started to drop open before he caught himself and finished chewing.

Upon swallowing, Harry took a quick gulp of butterbeer before asking, "Did you get into trouble with your captain?"

"He got lectured," Alex said, rolling her eyes. "Like that's new. I told him that he needed a swift kick in the ass—"

"Which started a long tradition," Bobby finished Alex's sentence, drawing a smile from her. "Of Alex threatening to kick me swiftly in a certain part of my backside for some reason or other."

"If you would stop throwing yourself into dangerous situations, then I wouldn't have to worry, would I?"

"Aw, Eames, you worry about me? I'm touched."

"Shut up, Goren, and eat. Your _imported_ New York Style pizza and buffalo wings are getting cold."

Bobby flashed her one final white-toothed grin before finally digging into his food. Harry laughed again and took a bite of his pepperoni and sausage pizza, amused at the way the cheese seemed to stretch on and on. Down the table, Aunt Petunia was watching him forlornly, her face now dry and her eyes bright with unshed tears.

Uncle Vernon had been Portkeyed to London an hour earlier and was quickly processed. He was currently in a holding cell until his arraignment the next morning on one count each of first degree child abuse and endangering a minor. Bobby had wanted to stay in London to make sure everything went smoothly, but Deakins—having talked to both Carver (giving him a much-watered down version of the truth) and Dumbledore—had objected, saying that the safest place for Bobby and Harry at the moment was as far away from Vernon Dursley as possible.

Bobby had frowned deeply as he listened to Deakins warning him not to do anything that would lose him his job. The Major Case Squad captain had been shocked to find out that Bobby had a nephew in England that he hadn't known about, but he seemed to be hiding it well. "It won't do you or Harry any good to go off to London on a vengeance spree. Tell Alex, that, too. I won't have you two getting suspended or fired over this prick. It's enough that you two got Harry out of there. Enjoy your vacation because when you get home there'll be all the cases you want waiting for you."

"Stop trying to cheer Bobby up, Captain," Alex had said, taking Bobby's cell phone and putting it up to her ear. "If you give him enough reason, he'd probably Apparate back there and get in trouble with the Ministry of Magic."

Deakins had chuckled at the absolutely absurd turn his life had taken in the last ninety-six hours and sighed, saying goodbye and hanging up. And now they were sequestered, along with Harry, the headmaster and deputy headmistress, teachers, Hagrid, and two of the three Dursleys at one brown table, the House tables having been vanished in favor of a smaller one.

"I have sent letters to your friends, Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall told him primly before tucking into a bowl of stew. Bobby and Alex had opted for pizza and bread sticks with sauce for themselves and Harry, who was gratefully digging into his third slice. Surprisingly, Dudley was still nibbling at the first serving of his own meal. Normally, he'd be on a second helping by now. The larger boy kept glancing at Bobby who, upon noticing, halted chewing his garlic breadstick and swallowed before replying, "I'm not going to shoot you, you know."

Snape snorted and Alex licked the sauce from her lips with the tip of her tongue before adding, "Just because we constantly threaten _you_ with bodily harm doesn't mean we treat everyone that way. If Dudley promises not to harm a hair on Harry's head from now on, we won't do anything to him."

"I promise," Dudley said immediately, and the detective looked at him for a while before returning to her food. Dudley picked at his still, remembering the way the detectives had come into his house and flashed their guns at his parents, telling them that they were under arrest and telling them a list of things they had rights to. How they'd explained that the larger man had been Harry's father's brother and that they were guilty of child abuse. The woman had been shorter than his mother, but the way she had glared at Dudley scared him. She looked as though she was a really good shot and would've hurt him if necessary. She'd asked him if he'd ever hurt Harry and all the while he'd known that she already knew the answer. He hadn't been afraid of anyone besides Harry in a long time. And never anyone normal at all. He still had nightmares about what had happened last summer in the alley between Wisteria Walk and Magnolia Crescent, when Harry had saved him from those Demender things. _No, they're called _Dementors. Shaking ever so slightly, he corrected himself, remembering that Harry had said it correctly that night. It was a fitting title, really, considering what they had done to him. He was Demented, indeed. He'd never told anyone that he had seen them. Not even Harry. He didn't want to think about it, but the memory of it haunted him like a ghost.

The memory of what the Dementors had made him see...he'd teased Harry about his nightmares just before it happened. He didn't do that anymore. In fact, he rarely spoke aloud anymore. As a result, his parents had considered taking him to some sort of doctor or psychiatrist because of the way he wouldn't eat and the weight he was losing so quickly as a result. It was odd, really, that just three years ago his school nurse had written home about how overweight he was and now he was almost as small as Harry. The adults at his school had begun to watch him all the time. And the other students had stared. They had whispered about the dark circles under his eyes and the way he sometimes 'spaced out' as his cousin had been known to do. They gossiped about the way he stopped talking to Piers and the other boys in his gang. He'd stopped bullying the other students which, his teachers had supposed, was the only good result of his recent change in behavior. His school nurse and the headmaster had written to his parents about his grades, already below standard, plummeting to near rock bottom. He'd been kicked out of Smeltings at the end of the year. And now American police officers had arrested his parents. Just last year, he'd been Junior Inter-school Boxing Champion and now he wasn't anyone. It was a new feeling for Dudley, but one he reckoned his cousin knew well. After all, most of Harry's foul treatment, particularly when they'd been in primary school, had been because of Dudley. He never thought he'd feel so bad.

Bobby watched the Dursley boy, Dudley, as he picked at his baked chicken and mashed potatoes. The blond was withdrawn and quiet; obviously a very recent change, he decided, because his mother kept watching him worriedly. The boy was clearly depressed.

Getting up silently, he picked up his buffalo wings and ranch sauce before he gestured for Harry to follow him as he walked to the other side of the immense hall. Walking to the other side of the table, he stopped next to Dudley, who started violently.

"Don't worry, Dudley," Bobby said, reassuring him and offering him a buffalo wing. "I just need to talk to you and Harry for a little bit. Then you can come back over here. I'm not going to hurt you, I promise."

Sighing, Dudley ignored the terrified expression dawning on his mother's face and the stares of all the others—Bobby and Harry, is seemed, were long used to being stared at for one reason or another—and followed the two wizards to the other side of the hall. Dumbledore and Alex watched them go, but said nothing. Professor McGonagall issued Snape a sharp look for continuing to stare and he went back to his chicken noodle soup.

Once they were a safe distance away, Bobby looked Dudley over more thoroughly. The boy watched him, apprehension flooding his body. Harry instead watched Bobby, curious as to what was going to happen.

"You're very depressed about something," Bobby said quietly, watching as Dudley sank back against the wall, his eyes closing. "Something that happened last summer. With Dementors."

Uncle Bobby's speech was decidedly strange, Harry noticed. It was soft, so unlike Uncle Vernon's, and peppered with odd pauses. And then, of course, there was the way he tilted his head and watched you when he talked. He didn't even seem to notice he did it half the time. Harry looked at Dudley to gauge his cousin's reaction and was astonished to see the other boy starting to shake.

"You haven't been eating very much for months now and have lost a lot of weight. You haven't been sleeping. Your grades have dropped off the scale, just about. Whenever you _do _manage to sleep, you have terrible nightmares about that night in the alley last summer. When Harry saved your life. He used magic to protect you and got into a lot of trouble for it...you thought he'd used it on you at first, but then he explained about the Dementors. You can't stop thinking about what they did to you. They haunt you just like they haunt Harry. What you saw is killing you..."

Harry was staring at Uncle Bobby now in shock. Dudley was depressed and haunted? The Dementors were terrorizing him? "He's dying?"

Bobby looked at his nephew and gestured vaguely at Dudley, who flinched slightly. "When the human body goes too long without the proper nutrients, it starts to cannibalize itself—in a way. It strips itself of calcium in the bones and the muscles become emaciated and the skin becomes taut and hardens. The liver and pancreas eventually swell, causing that 'full belly' that you'll find in people—p-particularly small children—who are severely malnourished. You see this sort of thing with anorexic teenagers. Their bodies are destroyed from the inside out. We have to get him to the hospital wing so he can have a decent meal and some of the dreamless sleep potion that's worked so very well for you and me."

"Dreamless sleep?" Dudley asked, his rather glassy eyes coming to meet Bobby's. "You can have something that'll keep you from having nightmares?"

Bobby and Harry both nodded, frowning somberly.

"You and H-Harry take that?" Dudley's face registered a small amount of fear.

"Took," Harry clarified. "After my fourth year when I was...kidnapped a-and tortured by Voldemort. He tried to kill me, too. That's what my nightmares were about."

"I dream about the voices in my mother's head," Bobby explained, his voice becoming still softer. "M-my mother is schizophrenic and I've always had nightmares about the voices coming to get me...one day. Ever since I was around seven, w-when my dad left."

"Your dad left you?" Dudley asked, his white face registering shock. "You mean he just...left and didn't come back? When you were _seven_?"

Bobby nodded curtly, his equally pale face hardening at the memory. "Yeah, look...you haven't eaten properly in months. I don't know why you're not in a hospital yet. Or why your parents didn't notice until now."

"I didn't want them to notice," Dudley sighed. "My dad...he's always so proud of me and...my mum...she loves me."

"And, meanwhile, they treat Harry like crap," Bobby said in a low voice that made Dudley flinch again. He turned to Harry.

"I've wanted to apologize to you for a long time, b-but you were away at—were here and I didn't know how to reach you. And then, of course, Mum and Dad would've wanted to know why on earth I would've wanted to talk to you and then..."

"It's alright," Harry reassured his cousin. "I get it. Look, we should take you to the hospital wing. You can tell your mum that you're still nauseous from the Portkey."

"The what?" Dudley asked, confused.

"The Portkey. When a wizard turns an object into a Portkey, they can use it to travel somewhere. Stuff that Muggles won't pick up or touch. Rubbish. That's how we got back here. Anyway, you can tell your mum that you don't feel well and we can take you upstairs. Madam Pomfrey'll have a fit, though. She's..." Harry trailed off, looking at Bobby. "Did she nag you or anything about your not sleeping?"

"No, that was Professor McGonagall, like I said. You should have seen the way she kept glaring at me and Alex earlier. I made the mistake of telling her that I hadn't eaten since Wednesday at breakfast, New York time. I think I prefer Alex threatening to give me a swift kick. She's like my old drill sergeant, really."

Harry snickered. "What'd you join the army for?"

"The discipline," Bobby answered simply. "I needed it."

Harry was inclined to ask his uncle why on earth he thought he needed discipline, but Dudley's situation was more important at the moment, so they followed their plan. Bobby and Harry went back to the table and Bobby sat down, resuming his meal. Harry waited as Dudley told his mother that he didn't feel well and that Harry would take him upstairs to see the school nurse, Madam Pomfrey. Petunia Dursley looked frightened at the prospect of her 'Ickle Dinky Diddydums' being in the clutches of a witch, but upon seeing that Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Snape, as well as the two detectives examining her son with various stages of worry, she reluctantly agreed.

"I'm coming, as well," she said, however. "There's no way I'm leaving you alone up there for that woman to—"

"No!" Dudley objected a bit too quickly. His mother looked at him in alarm. "I-I mean, it'll be alright, Mum. I'm sure it's just a stomach ache or something." Dudley hated lying to his mother. He wondered why his parents never caught him when he did it. He would give anything to be found out.

Grudginly, Petunia turned back to her food, which sat mostly untouched as her son's had. Looking at her nephew, she almost growled, "You look after Dudley—"

Then she remembered that Detective Goren was watching her, along with his partner and everyone else. "Just...look after him, Harry," she said wearily, her eyes becoming tired. "Please?"

Harry stared at his aunt, momentarily, before doing as she asked. On the way up to the hospital wing, Dudley again stared at all the paintings on the wall.

"Do they always move?" he asked faintly, distracted by a painting of grazing horses beside a stream.

"Yeah," Harry replied, looking up at the paintings. Having been in the magical world for five years, he was thoroughly used to them by now. "I don't even think anything of it anymore."

"Your uncle and his partner..." he ventured, plainly uneasy. "They're rather...well, scary. Especially him. He's intense."

Harry grinned. "I like Uncle Bobby. He's really, really smart. And weird—and funny, too. Plus, he and Alex hate Snape, as well, so—you know, bonus."

"You're starting to talk like he does. With all those odd pauses and things."

"Am I?" Harry grinned as they arrived at the hospital wing. _That didn't take long at all,_ he noticed. Madam Pomfrey was already at the door.

"Mr. Potter," she said, clicking her tongue and looking him over with disapproval. "Honestly, between you and Detective Goren—"

"We're not here for me or my uncle," Harry said hesitantly. "I'm here to drop off my cousin. He's in a bad state."

That was when Madam Pomfrey noticed Dudley standing beside Harry, his shoulders—which she could see were unnaturally thin, moreso than his cousin's—slumped forward in exhaustion. Immediately, she took gentle hold of the boy and steered him toward a bed.

"Good heavens, child—when is the last time you had a proper meal?"

"I've tried to eat," Dudley said quietly. "I haven't—" He stopped short as Madam Pomfrey began undoing his shoelaces. "What're you doing?"

"You need rest, young man. Mr. Potter," she glanced at Harry before going back to removing Dudley's shoes and pushing him gently back onto the bed. "Go get the headmaster and headmistress, as well as your aunt and the detectives, please."

"Yes, Madam Pomfrey," Harry said, nodding before racing back downstairs. What was wrong? He wondered, taking the stairs down to the Great Hall two and three at a time. Was Dudley's condition even worse than Uncle Bobby had thought?

Was Dudley going to die or something?

Walking steadily back into the Great Hall, Harry went up to each of those asked for and told them what happened quietly. Instantly, they all got up and started walking toward the doors, eventually convening in the hospital wing.

"I gave him some Dreamless Sleep potion," Madam Pomfrey said sadly as she turned to look at Aunt Petunia. "Do you know that your son hasn't eaten a proper meal in months?"

"Y-yes," Aunt Petunia trembled, watching her son lying sedated on the bed in a pair of light blue pajamas. "Vernon and I were looking for a psychiatrist to talk to him about whatever seems to be bothering him. We—"

"Never noticed that he's well on his way to starving to death," Madam Pomfrey interjected darkly and Aunt Petunia gasped as fresh tears fell down her face.

"He's depressed," Bobby added, coming over to stand by Dudley's bedside. "It started with the incident last summer in the alleyway between Magnolia Cresent and Wisteria Walk. Harry saved his life that night, but those Dementors are still haunting him. It's what they do, to wizards in—"

"Azkaban," Harry said, coming to a realization. He'd read something last year while researching hexes and curses for the D.A. He needed to go to the library, quickly. "Ah, Uncle Bobby, could you come with me to the library? I-I need to find something."

Alex suppressed an amused snort as Bobby agreed and the two wizards hurried down to the cavernous school library for some book or other—maybe more. Sighing in a resigned fashion, she looked down at the bed and watched Harry's cousin sleep for a bit. Then she turned to Petunia, her expression incredulous. "So, let's just take a not-so-big leap and say that you and your husband are quite possibly the most oblivious caregivers on the face of the earth and there's no way either of you should have been allowed to breed, let alone adopt a child. Particularly you."

Affronted, Petunia wanted to respond, but Alex cut her off, her eyebrows raised in astonishment. "Did you ever notice that your already traumatized nephew was being abused at the hands of your husband and—formerly—your son? Did you ever notice that your son, who you claim to care so much about, hasn't eaten or slept properly in almost a _year_?"

Petunia opened her mouth, but no words came out. She closed it and bit her lip.

"That's what I thought, which is where the accessory charge comes from. Observation won't kill you, you know. If it did, my partner would've died at birth." After which she turned to Snape. "If you make one snide comment..."

"I won't!" Snape snapped back, irritated. "I don't want Potter and Goren dead; when will you get that through your bloody skull!"

"When you kneel and politely kiss my ass," Alex shot back, earning a sharp glare from Professor McGonagall.

"If you two are done acting like foulmouthed children, I believe the situation at hand is of far more importance."

Alex sighed and nodded, shooting Snape one last glare for good measure.

* * *

Lately I've been wishing I had one desire  
Something that would make me never want another  
Something that would make it so that nothing matters  
All would be clear then

* * *

...tbc... 

**A/N:** I've decided to split this into two parts because what I'm trying to do is taking forever and I figured I made you guys wait long enough. sigh Enjoy!


	7. New Beginnings and Old Endings b

**Ominous  
**_By Angelfirenze  
_

**Disclaimer:** See chapters 1-6 (a) Also, there is mention of a certain XF character here, but nothing concrete or in any way integral to the story.  
Includes exposition and semi-expositionfrom chapters thirty-six and thirty-seven of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (including the infamous wand order correction), chapter one of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, 'Dudley Demented,' as well as chapter three of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, 'Will and Won't.' Lyrics from Nine Inch Nails, etc.

**Summary: **"We are here to discuss the matter of Harry Potter, Dudley Dursley, and their futures. It is clear that there have been certain secrets kept that have proved unwise and, in retrospect, extremely dangerous. These secrets have almost cost the life of one of the wizards in question."

**Pairings:** Bobby Goren/Alex Eames, etc.

**Timeline:** Post-'Collective,' pre-'Stress Position.'

**Rating: R** for...stuff.

**Archive:** At Amorous Intent, of course.

**Inspiration: **A lot of stuff I've been obsessing over lately: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. _The Butterfly Effect_. Nine Inch Nails' album, **With Teeth**. Sparta's single, 'Breaking the Broken' from their album, **Porcelain**. _The Sixth Sense_. The X-Files; especially the two-parters, 'Two Fathers/One Son' and 'Seit und Zein/Closure.' Law & Order: Criminal Intent and ANGEL seasons one through four, various emo songs, Harry Potter and Philosophy and Kurt Cobain's Journals, among other random things.

**A/N:** Now that I've read HBP, I have to say my take on all this will be a bit more cheerful when compared. Also, this fic will include some exposition akin to several scenes in the two-part X-Files series finale, 'The Truth.' There's also some invention on my part. If exposition and/or invention pisses you off, I'm sorry but it's necessary.

Part VI: New Beginnings and Old Endings (b)

* * *

I'm writing on a little piece of paper  
I'm hoping someday you might find  
I'll hide it behind something  
They won't look behind  
I am still inside here  
A little bit comes bleeding through  
I wish this could have been any other way  
But I just don't know- I don't know what else I can do!

* * *

Harry led Bobby through the stacks of Hogwarts library, strangely confident that his uncle would understand what he was doing despite his lack of communication. Perhaps it was his suspicion that Bobby was naturally gifted with the abilities of Occlumency and Legilimency. Either way, he wound his way through the library without a word to the older man following him. Part of him had expected Bobby to ask questions about what they were looking for, why, and how it was going to help Dudley, but they didn't come. Instead, he was able to think in the silence and lack of questions that he knew even Hermione and Ron—well, Ron, anyway—wouldn't afford him. Someone else would have said it was just because Bobby was so much older and more patient, but he knew it wasn't true. He had a feeling Bobby intimately understood the need for silence in order to think. 

Trailing his finger along the section he was searching through, Harry paused briefly when he noticed Bobby dart away from him in search of something himself. But now wasn't the time to stop and ponder the older man's behavior. There were more important things to think about at the moment. Going to the section he wanted, he reached behind the row of books on the third shelf from the bottom, Harry felt around until he found the roll of parchment he'd hidden back there. Having known only too well that Madam Pince would have demanded a pound of his flesh for writing in one of her precious books, Harry had settled for copying out the section on Dementors and making particular note of what Umbridge had—of course—not told him in class. He'd figured at the time that it might come in handy when instructing the D.A. but never had a chance to discuss it with the others as not two days later, Malfoy and the rest of the Inquisitorial Squad had promptly destroyed any notion of the D.A. meeting again that year.

Unrolling the parchment, Harry walked over to one of the tables and sat down. Almost instantly, Bobby had walked up carrying an armload of books, at the top of which was small book written in some language Harry couldn't speak and sat down, as well. But it didn't look like Bobby was reading a library book at the moment.

"What language is that?" Harry asked, turning his head this way and that, trying to make the cover sensible.

"Italkian, mostly, but there's Hebrew in here, too." He took the bookmark from the back and slid it into the page he was reading before closing the book.

"Italkian? What's that and..._Hebrew?_" Harry asked, now a bit confused. "But you're not Jewish, are you? Surely, I'm not."

Bobby flashed that tiny, not quite smile of his before looking at the parchment Harry brought to the table. "Was that what you've been looking for?" He asked quietly, feeling a tiny bit lightheaded for some reason.

"I asked you first," Harry told him, prompting a sigh from his uncle, who looked very much like he didn't want to go into it at all, even if it was Harry asking the question.

"My father...your grandfather—was an Italian Jew, since you must know. Y-you deserve to know. He was your grandfather. Anyway, I wasn't really raised Jewish myself, my mother being Catholic, but I did learn...Hebrew from my own grandparents and had a _bar mitzvah_ when I was thirteen—that is, I was entered into the ancient Covenant between God and the Israelites. I didn't especially want to do it, really—it felt fake. Hypocritical, given my lack of observance of most of the more...involved Judaic laws—but it made my foster parents at the time happy. Which I find endlessly amusing because they weren't Jewish or even Catholic. But I, like one of my best friends and roommate from college, am not a very good...Jew. I'm not even a very good...Catholic." Bobby didn't continue, but only looked at the parchment in Harry's hands. The younger wizard thought about what Bobby had said for a moment. The Dursleys had never been that religious either, in any form. He himself had been...well, a bit different. He could remember when he was younger, liking to spend time in churches—especially when hiding from Dudley and his gang. He liked Catholic churches best because those were rarer around Surrey, and more beautiful, as well. He remembered asking Aunt Petunia once, when he was younger, why they didn't go to church or mass, or wherever they were supposed to go. She had glared and snapped at him not to ask questions before sending him out into the back garden to rake the leaves. He didn't even know if the Dursleys _believed _in God or not and they most certainly weren't Jewish, as far as he knew. However, Harry--sensing this was as far as Bobby was willing to go—dropped the matter and returned to the matter at hand.

"Right," Harry took a breath and began to examine the parchment, telling Bobby about it at the same time. "Well, I came across this last year while inventing my lesson plans for the D.A. It was actually a few days before Malfoy and the rest of the bloody Inquisitorial Squad came calling because of Cho's '_friend_,' Marietta. I hope she still hasn't gotten rid of those spots Hermione gave her—"

Bobby chuckled slightly, but otherwise gave no response to Harry's vengeful aside on the subject. Taking a breath, Harry ploughed on. "I was looking for a way to really illustrate the importance of them all learning the Patronus spell—they'd seen it so far as something amusing and it's not. You saw what's happened to Dudley. That thing almost Kissed him and—"

He cut himself off, rising from the table and beginning to pace back and forth along the table. "And now it's killing him. It's been almost a year, but it's still draining him of his life force. It is much more severe than with most Muggles, too, I should add. From what I know, Dementors only affect Muggles to the point of giving them 'general feelings of unhappiness and depression.' It's not like with wizards, where we're literally destroyed by our own worst memories—so I thought, 'what gives?'"

Bobby nodded. "So you came back to what you remembered."

Harry nodded back, again happy he didn't have to fill out blanks like with Ron. With Bobby, there didn't seem to _be_ any blanks. "Anyway, it's all there." He handed the parchment to Bobby, who read.

"_'A Dementor who is prevented from Kissing its victim sometimes marks him or her, continuing to siphon off happiness from the victim even months and, sometimes, years after the initial attack. Particularly if the victim is unable to defend themselves at the time..._' Dudley doesn't have a wand and certainly doesn't know the Patronus Charm. He would've been Kissed had you not been there...well, actually--"

"The Dementors wouldn't _have been_ there had I not been there, yeah. I know. It was Dolores Umbridge at the Ministry trying to shut me and my 'baseless accusations and lies' up. I had to do detentions with her last year. She made me use this quill—I bet that evil thing is banned under Article whatchamacallit, Clause something or other." Walking around to where Bobby sat, Harry balled his fist so that the pale scars etched into the back of his right hand shone extra brightly in the light of the lamps around them. Frowning, Bobby took gentle hold of Harry's hand and read the words, his eyes darkening as he did so.

"_I shall not tell lies. _Did you tell..."

The question died in his throat and he narrowed his eyes at Harry. "You were angry with him for virtually ignoring you for five months and felt that if he'd decided his attention was better warranted elsewhere then you certainly weren't going to attract it purposely."

Smiling wryly, Harry nodded. "I felt..."

"Abandoned." Harry nodded a second time, and Bobby put a hand on your shoulder. "Listen, Dumbledore didn't abandon you. You've never been forgotten by those of us who truly care about you and you never will be."

Harry's heart warmed at Bobby's intentional use of the word, 'us.'

"Now, come on, I imagine there's several people in the hospital wing on tenterhooks waiting for us."

And together, they strode out of the library.

* * *

Took a walk down under the street  
Never thought that I'd see the day I would meet  
Came and whispered in my ear  
But I tried to pretend that I didn't hear  
Turned my head and walked away  
And I tried to forget what they had to say  
Put on a smile and I tried to hide  
But I couldn't keep myself from crying inside...

* * *

Harry led Bobby through several of the shortcuts he knew to be scattered throughout Hogwarts for the fastest way back to the hospital wing. Within minutes, they were speeding back along the corridor and sliding through the hospital wing's doorway to find Alex and Snape glaring daggers at one another and Professor McGonagall glowering at them in turn. Aunt Petunia was hovering over Dudley, clearly annoying Madam Pomfrey, who kept trying to get past her so as to care for her patient. Professor Dumbledore was the only one who noticed their return. 

"Ah, Bobby, Harry, did you two find what you were looking for?"

Harry nodded, handing the sheet of parchment to the headmaster, who read it, his face becoming quite grave. "Yes, yes, I thought this might be the problem. Thank you, Harry. Bobby, if you'd kindly go to my office and fetch the instrument you were examining when you first arrived—"

Professor McGonagall, who was now paying attention, frowned slightly, but otherwise let it pass. Bobby hurried up to Dumbledore's office, giving the troll at the top the password and waiting impatiently for him to move. Once he had, Bobby dashed over to one of the spindly tables and picked up an instrument rather like the antenna on a police radio handset, except longer and minus the body. Slipping it into his pocket, he rushed back to the others, giving it to Dumbledore, who presented it to a shocked Madam Pomfrey.

"Dumbledore, I-I was certain we were going to have to send this boy to St. Mungo's—"

"Saint what?" Petunia asked anxiously, her pale eyes widening further with fear.

"Wizard hospital," Harry said, frowning.

"They're trying to help him," Alex said, coming to take Petunia by the arms and manually steer her away from Dudley's bed. "In case you hadn't noticed, you're getting in the way."

Sending Alex a thankful glance and taking a deep breath, Madam Pomfrey took the instrument and trailed it over Dudley's body, rather as though she were checking for stolen paraphernalia or metals with the Secrecy Sensor Filch so gleefully abused the students with the year before. Almost instantly, the instrument began to emit a high-pitched noise and both Harry and Bobby clapped their hands over their ears.

"Ahh," Bobby moaned, shutting his eyes tightly. "What is that?"

"This instrument detects whether a Dementor has marked someone who was unable to defend themselves against it," Dumbledore clarified as Madam Pomfrey shut it off, much to Bobby and Harry's relief. "Someone they were not able to Kiss. I used it on Sirius with his permission two and half years ago. He was promptly given the antidote and unmarked."

Bobby frowned and rubbed his ears. "That really hurt. I don't suppose anyone—other than Harry and I—has sensitive hearing?"

"Not at the moment," Dumbledore said in a considerably lightened tone. "Though, I'm certain that if Remus Lupin were here, he would have been in more pain than either of you."

"Why is that?" Alex asked, looking Bobby over worriedly.

"Lupin is a werewolf," Harry said irritably. He was getting a headache. "But what about Dudley? What's going to happen to him?"

"To be unmarked—and, no Petunia, it is not a physical one, so you wouldn't have seen it—he will need the antidote, which Madam Pomfrey has stores of because of our...hospitality several years ago—"

Harry snorted. Dumbledore chuckled slightly before continuing. "And it will be easy enough to administer—with his mother's permission." He glanced at Petunia, who nodded reluctantly. "The question, I believe, is why Dudley has been affected in this way."

"You already know the answer," Bobby said, glancing back and forth between Dumbledore and Petunia. "And, as much as she tries to deny it, so does she."

"Ah," Dumbledore said kindly. "It appears that Harry was correct in his estimation, Bobby, that you are naturally gifted in the arts of Occlumency and Legilimency. A most intriguing situation in and of itself considering you are also able to Apparate and you haven't had any practice or even any magical training at all yet."

Bobby was blushing again. Harry was tempted to tell Dumbledore to leave him alone. Fortunately, that was all Dumbledore said on the subject before turning to Petunia, who looked as though she had been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

"Please try to relax, Mrs. Dursley," Dumbledore said softly. "We are only here to help Dudley get better. You are rather impeding the process."

"How do I know you won't hurt Dudley?" Petunia asked and immediately Harry felt the urge to curse her.

"Aunt Petunia," he said in a would-be calm voice, because Uncle Bobby had just placed a hand on his shoulder. "It does Dudley more harm than good if you don't let Madam Pomfrey give him the potion."

"He'll die without it," Bobby continued, watching her with those intense brown eyes of his that made her feel as though he was burning her soul with them. "I can't imagine that's what you want. You've already done him no favors by trying to disabuse him of his powers. You tried that with Harry, as well, but he was too powerful. Dudley, who never had any idea--who spent his life believing his cousin and the aunt and uncle who sacrificed their lives for him were bad, is now in great danger because you deceived him all this time. He needs to use his magic or else he'll never be able to beat this. Not least of all, your immaculately clean house will be destroyed by rampant, uncontrolled magic from an untrained wizard who doesn't have anyone to guide him. I _know_ you don't want that."

The look on Aunt Petunia's face told all present that Bobby and Harry were correct. With a shuddering nod, Aunt Petunia stepped back and let Madam Pomfrey finally administer the potion. Afterward, Dudley continued to sleep.

"When will he wake up?" Aunt Petunia asked, stroking Dudley's forehead.

"Within the hour," Madam Pomfrey said, frowning slightly. "But he still needs rest."

"In the meantime, then," Professor Dumbledore said, watching as Dudley's pallor and color began to improve immediately. "I believe it would be prudent for us to leave. There is still much to discuss."

With those words, Dumbledore left the hospital wing with Harry, Bobby, Alex, Professors Snape and McGonagall, and Petunia Dursley in tow. Within ten minutes, they were back in Dumbledore's office, seating themselves in the chairs around the room. Harry sat down in his usual chair before Dumbledore and Bobby and Alex seated themselves on either side of him.

"We are here to discuss the matter of Harry Potter, Dudley Dursley, and their futures. It is clear that there have been certain secrets kept that have proved unwise and, in retrospect, extremely dangerous. These secrets have almost cost the life of one of the wizards in question." He looked directly at Petunia and it was as if a slight but discernible chill had fallen over the office. Bobby felt his arms prickle as the hairs along them were raised. He felt Alex lean closer to him and was tempted to put his arm around her.

"Regarding Harry, as you already know, he is a wizard. You have known this the entire time he has lived with you. You tried unsuccessfully for ten years to 'squash' his magic out of him to no avail and succeeded only in abusing and terrorizing an innocent child who had done nothing to warrant such treatment."

Bobby felt his chest tighten with anger and restrained himself from interrupting the headmaster. He felt Alex's hand close around his and faintly registered her left thumb tracing around the lower joint of his right. Sighing inwardly, he resigned himself to staring at Petunia, not bothering to hide the darkness in his eyes.

"When Professor McGonagall sent out the letters to alert the first years of the coming school year, you and your husband repeatedly stole Harry's letters and destroyed them, going so far as to rent a dilapidated hut in the middle of the sea to keep Harry from getting them. These crude methods were also unsuccessful in that your husband greatly underestimated both Hagrid's resilience and mine. Harry was finally given his letters and told his story, which he should have been informed of several years previous. I cannot pretend this does not incense me. However, it is not your treatment of Harry—however terrible it was—that angers me, and Detectives Goren and Eames, I am certain, so much as your husband's. His atrocious cruelty toward Harry is why he is sitting in a London jail cell at the moment as opposed to here in my office."

Several of the portraits of the former headmasters and mistresses lining the walls of the office gasped and made faint noises of anger and appall. Even Phineas Nigellus made no comments save raising an eyebrow in obvious disdain. Petunia, having heard the noises of dissent, looked at the paintings, but glanced away once she saw their reactions to her.

"Nevertheless, even Harry has escaped the sad state that Dudley Dursley has found himself in. You allowed your son to run over the both of you, being a spoiled and unpleasant child and a bully who expected to get whatever he wanted, whenever. Perhaps Petunia, you believed it would give Dudley no reason to do accidental magic and you would not have to reveal to either him or Vernon Dursley of his magical abilities or his status as a Muggleborn. This plan has not only failed but, in the end, it has almost cost Dudley his life. The only reason he is no longer the bullying horror he was previously is because the Dementors have been slowly siphoning his life force from him for the last year. That is unfortunate and upsetting. I can no longer stand for it. I am willing to re-grant Dudley entrance here to Hogwarts to teach him to use his magic much as Bobby is being taught to use his. He will also be Sorted into a House and privy to all the rules, regulations, and privileges that Harry and Bobby are. You may, of course, refuse him permission and, should you do so, we will take steps to have you prosecuted along with your husband for abuse and endangerment of the lives of minors. I am certain that the detectives will tack on several other charges, as well."

Bobby turned to look at Petunia and gave her a humorless smile that made her breath hitch painfully in her chest. Alex frowned and squeezed Bobby's hand again to bring his attention back to the headmaster.

"Once Dudley wakes up, he will not have his memory Modified. It is also his right to choose whether he wants to stay here at Hogwarts. The only reason I am asking you is because Dudley is still a part of the Muggle world and will not be considered an adult there for two more years. Once he becomes a documented wizard, this will change. Dudley and Harry both will become of age at the age of seventeen, after which they will be granted privileges such as Apparition licenses, if they pass their tests, and other things. Dudley will no longer be under your guard. As it is, at the moment, Harry is your responsibility. One you have squandered dreadfully. I have done much research in the past few hours and have found a way to transfer Harry's protection from you to Detective Goren, who is more than willing to look after his nephew. Yes, Detective Goren _is_ Harry's uncle. His younger half-brother, James Potter, is Harry's father, as you know. There is the blood connection that is needed. All need now is to perform..."

Dumbldore's voice died away and Alex was reminded of the conversation they had earlier. She gripped Bobby's hand as he leaned forward.

"Perform _what_?" He asked, unease filling his gut. Bobby looked away from Dumbledore's eyes, willing the older man to tell him instead of letting him perceive it.

"If the words 'blood' and 'ritual' come out of your mouth..." Harry began darkly. His hands were gripping the arms of his chair, the skin of them white. The words etched into the right one shone clearly in the waning sunlight leaking through the open windows.

Dumbledore sighed and Harry got up, intent on pushing past Snape when he started to block him. "Harry," he said quietly, his voice much less harsh than usual. This softer, strangely caring address gave Harry momentary pause before he continued out into the hallway beyond.

"Bobby," Alex said at almost the same moment. Her best friend sank back into his chair, his breathing having gone shallow, his skin now pale and clammy. She looked at Dumbledore, who frowned with worry. "He's hyperventilating. I told you this would be a problem."

Nodding, Dumbledore rose from behind his desk and ventured over to a shelf, selecting a bottle of pale blue liquid and coming to stand before Bobby.

"What is that?" Alex asked, eyeing the bottle warily.

"Calming Draught," Professor Dumbledore said gravely, opening the bottle and letting Alex force Bobby's mouth open before pouring a tiny amount down his throat. Instantly, she saw it take effect as Bobby's rigid body slackened slightly and his breathing slowed. After a few moments, he looked up at Dumbledore.

"Don't touch me," he whispered. There was a note of fear plain in his voice. Dumbledore nodded again and, instead of backing away, motioned to Bobby's pocket. Bobby reached into his robes and pulled his pocketknife out, flipping it open and staring at the blade. Then he brought up his right hand and sliced it open, just as he had done several years previously. This time, though, no one fainted. They merely watched as Dumbledore pulled out an empty vial and collected the fresh blood that flowed there before putting a stopper in the top.

Bobby pulled out his laundered handkerchief and wrapped it tightly around his hand. Professor McGonagall started to reach for him but halted as though she thought the better of it. Alex stepped back as he stood and gave Bobby the space she knew he needed. Everyone watched as Bobby went to stand again before the window, his eyes on the now darkened sky.

"Now..." Dumbledore said gravely. "To collect our Mr. Potter's half, which—I must say—will be easier said than done."

* * *

These cuts run deep  
These scars are permanent and always on display  
This makes things difficult for me  
It's not fair

* * *

Harry lay on his new bed, his arms wrapped around his knees, eyes shut tight. He wasn't going to let Dumbledore anywhere near him with any knives. No way in hell. 

"_Now, untie him, Wormtail, and give him back his wand."_

Curling up tighter, Harry clenched his eyes, trying to block out the memories. Block out the hurt.

"_Take my body back to my parents, will you, Harry?"_

It wasn't working. Dear God, it wasn't going away.

"_Your father's coming along in a moment, dear. He wants to see you..."_

His mother's voice, so soft...so comforting. He hadn't heard it in so long. Hot tears leaked out from under his eyelids, searing his skin and soul in equal measure.

"Harry," Uncle Bobby's voice rolled over his head, as though from far away. "H-Harry, open your eyes. Please."

Then a firm set of very warm hands—one of them wrapped in cloth—set themselves on his arms and pulled him into a sitting position, his head lolling forward as though he'd been asleep for hours. His face felt wet, cold in the air of the room, and it was a moment before he comprehended that he'd been pulled into a pair of arms. Above the fog, the lack of lucidity, he registered a small, hard shirt button on a broad chest. He was being held, hugged by a family member for the first time since he was old enough to remember the experience. There was a strange moaning coming from somewhere and he realized his throat hurt. The moaning noise was coming from his own body, his vocal chords in full revolt, and he couldn't even bring himself to stop it. To care.

Uncle Bobby wasn't speaking, or prompting him to speak. He was simply rubbing Harry's back in small, solid circles, his other arm loosely around Harry's neck, holding him upright. It was a long while before Harry felt the urge to sit up completely. The only other people in the room were Alex and Professor Dumbledore.

"The others are waiting in Professor Dumbledore's office," Uncle Bobby said, his voice soft and reassuring.

"For us to come back with my blood in that bottle," Harry scowled, wiping his face and glaring at the small vial Professor Dumbledore still held.

"You have every right to feel this way, Harry," The headmaster said sadly, his lined face creased in sadness. "Bobby does, as well."

Harry wiped his face on his sleeve one last time and looked at his uncle. "You got upset, too."

Uncle Bobby fidgeted a little, fingering the hem of his robe. He sighed, laying back across Harry's head and staring at the ceiling. "Um...when I was eight, right after I realized my mother...was sick...she had a bad night one summer. She threw a glass at me. I-I ducked but I when I went back to clean it up, I-I got bits of glass stuck in my hand. I had to pick it out, but my mother...she was trying to find me. I don't know why, exactly, and I didn't care to find out, but I had to hide in the closet. I was picking out the glass and my mother was storming around out in the hall, trying to find me. I-I shouldn't have ignored her, but I had to get the glass out. There...there was blood all over my clothes—it never came out no matter what I did to get it out. It was the...the various bloodstains...that made my teachers call New York Children's Services when I was twelve. I was a junior in high school at the time because of being skipped up and I guess they felt like they had an obligation to their youngest student or whatever. Maybe not. M-maybe they felt like they were doing their jobs, but I felt like they ruined my life. But anyway, I-I'm jumping all over the place. I-I do that. I can't seem to help it...but that's not the only incident that led me to have a problem with having my blood drawn by someone else. I don't like needles or hospitals, either. Maybe it's because I've never been there for good reasons. There was this one time when I sprained my ankle and I hadn't noticed or anything because I didn't feel it. When I was five, I was mad...smashed a window and messed up my hand. The doctor in the emergency room noted that I didn't seem to realize I was hurt other than seeing all the blood and hating it. The nurses said I kept screaming and thrashing and wouldn't let them help, so they gave me a sedative. He told m-my dad that I don't have a normal response to pain; a high level pain tolerance and whatnot, but my foster mother that other time, I guess, noticed I was limping. At least, that's what she said. Maybe it happened while I was playing basketball one day, I don't know. All I know is, she made me go to the ER and they said my ankle was sprained. I barely heard any of what—what the doctor said, I was too busy freaking out. Hospitals make me anxious, though I think I would have come to see you when you were born, but—of course—I had no idea about James, let alone you."

Bobby's voice streamed over him, and Harry felt himself calming. The tears had stopped, now, and he was hitching silently. Sighing deeply, Harry sat up straight and looked at Professor Dumbledore.

"I won't force you to do this if you don't want to, Harry," Dumbledore said, his voice quiet. "It is entirely your choice."

Harry nodded mutely, sliding out of Bobby's embrace and presenting his right arm to Professor Dumbledore. "I know," he whispered, his eyes filling with tears again, but none fell. He heard the click and swish of a knife being opened behind him and looked over to find Bobby holding his slightly bloodied knife out to him. Harry took it and Dumbldore whispered a cleaning spell, flicking his wand over it. The blade then shone, clean and glinting brightly, in the falling darkness. Biting his lip, Harry sliced open his own palm and let some of his blood collect into the vial Dumbledore provided.

When Dumbledore put a stopper into the vial, they all stood and turned to leave.

* * *

The tiniest little dot caught my eye  
And it turned out to be scab  
And I had this funny feeling  
Like I just knew it was something bad  
I just couldn't leave it alone, picking at that scab  
Was a doorway trying to seal itself shut  
But I climbed through  
Now I am somewhere I am not supposed to be  
And I can see things I know I really shouldn't see  
And now I know why (yeah, now I know why)  
I'm not as pretty on the inside

* * *

**A/N:** Okay, this chapter took _way _too long to get out. My apologies; I really, really wanted to post sooner. Damn it all. Please excuse my tardiness and please believe I did it for you guys. When I go back to a story, I don't want to cringe in sickness at the crap I threw out there. Call me a perfectionist. And, yes, I'm well aware that Bobby still hasn't taken a single class. I hope this doesn't become the epic I'm afraid it might. But, if it does, that's still reasonably okay so long as people don't get tired of it. 


	8. I Am The Killer

**Ominous  
**_By Angelfirenze_

**Disclaimer: **Duh. Oh, yeah, and one direct citation from The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams.

**Summary: **Whatever happens, happens. At this point, Bobby, Alex, Harry, and--at the moment--Dudley are pretty much running the show.

**Pairings, etc.:** B/A, H/Hr/R, D/G, anything else I happen to think of. Implied Snape/Lily unrequited...something. Yes, I know, he was an absolute ass to her. I like to think he couldn't stop himself from being stupid around her and hated himself for it. Note that most of said pairings, etc. won't be integral to the story. But you guys all knew that, seeing as you're here for the Goren/Eames goodness (and, perhaps, the plot) and not much else. At any rate, the only ones who'll even care about the other pairings have read and memorized all the books. Like me.

**Notes: **I love emo. I love punk. I love movies that screw with your head. I love documentaries. I love books with esoteric subjects and plotlines. My tastes are routinely reflected in the stories I write. There will also be shameless promotion of Windows XP, Adobe Photoshop, and Zip disks, to name a few. That's normal, isn't it? I mean, Jenn subliminally brainwashes us all with spectacular music videos and no one cares, so it must be alright.

I like to reference plot points from Bobby/Alex fics I've read at AI. One mentioned in this chapter is 'Above and Beyond the Call of Duty' by Piaffe417. Poor Alex. And poor Bobby, for that matter. Plus, there's a joke about a certain brand of highly addictive doughnuts that Heather and I laughed at one night while YIM-ing.

From now on, I think all the chapter titles will come from song titles or lyrics.

For all who don't know, this is x-posted at both and Amorous Intent., the Bobby/Alex Yahoo! Group. Anyway, onward...

**Final note:** I had to rewrite a good deal of this because of an incident involving the computer that I _still _haven't figured out. However, it's not a total loss as I realized I'd gotten distracted from the actual plot by the forest of dialogue (most of it being more Alex/Bobby banter) I'd written. Besides, this version has loads more subtext and, really, who doesn't love subtext? And I'm beginning to ramble, so I should just start the chapter now...

Chapter VIII: I Am The Killer

* * *

Sometimes I think this cycle never ends  
We slide from top to bottom, then we turn and climb again  
And it seems by the time that I have figured what it's worth  
The squeaking of our skin against the steel has gotten worse

* * *

Harry was tempted to grab Uncle Bobby's arm and yank him back behind one of the tapestries hanging against the wall, just to get away from Dumbledore, whom he could feel watching the both of them from where he walked behind. But he figured it would be rude to leave Alex and simply disappear; particularly because he could tell she and his uncle were very close friends and he'd never leave her like that. Ron and Hermione, after all, would afford him the same courtesy in the same situation. But, then again, Hermione and Ron had probably never found themselves in those sorts of circumstances. They'd had happy childhoods, after all, with parents that were alive and relatives that loved them. But, he reminded himself, Uncle Bobby had had that same start out. Things didn't sour for him until the age of eight. He'd known his mother loved him despite her illness; just like Harry's own parents had. Loved him still, even if she couldn't tell him. As for Harry's biological grandfather, he had no idea how to feel about him. It wasn't as though they were going to meet any time soon, seeing as the man was now dead. It seemed, at any rate, that he went back to New York and never left again. Frowning, Harry glanced at Uncle Bobby who was staring at the carpet patterns below his feet with the utmost intensity. His eyes were slightly bloodshot and he kept fidgeting, his hands at his sides, twitching. Harry glanced back at Alex, who was eyeing them both with the same worried expression. He immediately turned straight ahead, not wanting to worry his new friend further. 

Before he knew it, they were again filing back into Dumbledore's circular office. Snape was still glaring at Aunt Petunia, who was shaking silently in her seat. Harry, thinking that maybe Professor Snape was looking into his aunt's thoughts, wondered what was going on but stopped when he noticed a sleepy looking Dudley with Professor McGonagall, who was coaxing him into the chair beside Harry's. When Dudley's eyes landed on Harry's the older boy perked up a bit and even smiled. Harry grinned back, waving. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Bobby and Alex doing the same.

"Well," Dumbledore said lightly, the twinkle back in his eye as he appraised Dudley. "I see you have recovered remarkably well, Mr. Dursley. Now, I think, we should get down to business."

The sixteen-year-old watched the headmaster with a wary eye, but didn't seem to detect anything wrong. Tentatively, he turned to face Dumbledore, who was sliding back into his high backed chair, and gripped the armrests in nervousness.

"Mr. Dursley, by now Madam Pomfrey has explained to you what Harry and Detective Goren ascertained was your problem. The Mark placed upon you by the Dementor who attacked you last year has been lifted. The question now, I'm afraid, is what you wish to become of you."

Dudley gulped, shrinking back into his chair a bit. He flinched as Alex reached over to grip his hand warmly, but then settled down and watched Dumbledore.

"The nurse...er--M-Madam Pomfrey...she said I'm a Muggle-born. A w-wizard like Harry and his uncle, but with nonmagic parents."

Dumbledore nodded before frowning slightly. "It is regretful that your parents--particularly your mother--put you in this situation. Where your health had to be in peril before she allowed us to reveal to you your powers. It is regretful that your parents encouraged your previously incorrigible malicious behavior and bullying. Particularly toward your cousin, Harry, who has done nothing at all to warrant such treatment."

Dudley blushed deeply, shrinking in his chair despite the fact that Dumbledore had neither raised his voice or, even, spoken harshly to him. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, his eyes downcast and embarrassed.

"It's quite alright," Dumbledore assured him unexpectedly. "Harry, Bobby, and Alex, as you may recall, all accepted your sincere apology and hold no ill will toward you, I'm certain. My main concern is that yours and Harry's safety. Harry, especially, has been in very real danger since he was a very small child. I daresay he is quite used to death threats, attempts on his life, and the like. Your parents treatment of him has begun to be more of a nuisance than anything else as they understand they can longer hope to control him like they had previously done."

Harry chuckled darkly and smirked as Dudley stared at him, eyes widened in shock. He swallowed again and looked back at Dumbledore, who continued.

"You, on the other hand, are a different case. You may not realize it but you are, indeed, in far worse shape than Harry. Your parents handling of you is nothing short of appalling. You were given no restraint and, as is expected, became a spoiled, demanding, formerly dreadfully obese boy who had his fun by terrorizing others who you felt were weaker. Your parents, instead of punishing you and reprimanding you for your antisocial behavior, celebrated it. It is disgusting; I can find no other word for it and feel you have been cheated and betrayed by those who were supposed to love and care for you. The shadow of mark on your soul shall forever serve as a reminder to your parents of just how badly they took care of you. Your mother, I believe--we all believe--owes both you and Harry an apology."

Trembling slightly, Dudley turned to face his mother and was...unsurprised to find tears streaming down her face. He imagined that had his father heard the same speech, the large man would be standing in all his purple faced glory, yelling at Dumbledore; perhaps attempting to strangle him as he had done Harry the year before.

"D-Dudley," his mother said and he focused on her once more. "P-please. I-I never meant--"

"You meant to hurt Harry," he said quietly, frowning. "And you couldn't have meant him any good. You let Dad do whatever he wanted. Harry could defend himself against me a bit. He fought me. But Dad's way bigger than I am. He's way bigger than Harry for sure. You let Dad treat Harry like rubbish, too. What exactly is so wrong with Harry, anyway? I mean, yeah, he's a wizard, but I am, too."

Dudley had stopped stammering now. He was staring at his mother in anger. "What's so wrong with magic, anyway? It's never hurt you, has it? Harry's never hurt you."

His mother was frowning deeply now, shaking even harder.

"_He_ used m-magic, Dudley," Petunia spat, choking back a sob. "_He _used magic to murder my family. _H-he _killed Lily. Our parents. Our whole family! All because of _him_!"Petunia stood and pointed at Harry as though he were the evil wizard of whom she spoke.

Harry found this accusation so unfair that he stood up and snarled, "So I asked for Voldemort to murder my parents and my family, and countless other innocent people, is that it? I asked to have a bloody _scar_ on my head that makes everyone stare at me and think I'm some freak they can blame whenever something goes wrong? Is that it!"

Harry was vaguely aware that he was yelling, but was beyond caring.

"Lily would still be alive if it wasn't for you!" Petunia wailed and Bobby felt his mouth drop open.

"Don't you _dare _blame Harry for anything that maniac's done," he growled, his dark eyes flashing with anger. Petunia jumped and uttered a frightened gasp as though she had forgotten that there were others in the room.

"Harry didn't ask for anything that has happened to him," Alex added, glaring at this...horrible woman who had the nerve to blame an innocent boy for the death of his own mother, who he had loved and needed far more than she had. And it could not have been plainer, the disregard Petunia showed for James, her partner's own brother, who she hadn't mentioned at all. Harry had told them all about how she referred to his parents as 'her' and 'that horrible boy.' "And never having so much as a photo of your sister or your nephew's father around your house, not to mention never using their names or even telling Harry about them, really shows just how much you loved Lily."

"From what little I knew of you," Snape said, surprising nearly all assembled. "You hated Lily and made no effort whatsoever to hide it. From what I remember of her, she was a giving person who defended those she saw being wronged...even when those being defended threw it back in her face. I'm certain she hated being estranged from you. No matter how much you ignored her, she _never _ignored you. That I know for a fact."

Harry and Bobby stared at Snape, completely taken aback at this change in his attitude. Snape took a deep breath, watched Harry for a moment, then looked again at Petunia. "I have to wonder what on earth would have made you hate your own sister. Hate her so much that even taking care of her only child...a good, intelligent boy with integrity, concern for the welfare of others, and selflessness...was a burden you couldn't stand to bear."

Snape stopped talking then, leaving Harry watching him, wide-eyed, pale, and speechless. Had...had Snape just _complimented_ him? Had he accidentally stepped into some alternate reality?

Professors Dumbledore and Flitwick were smiling. Professor McGonagall, Uncle Bobby, and Dudley were staring. Alex was grinning smugly. Apparently not.

"Um...thank you, P-Professor," Harry stammered, feeling he should say something.

"Don't thank me," Professor Snape said enigmatically. "Just do yourself and the art of Potions justice in my course this year."

He'd gotten in? Harry blinked. "I--Yes, sir." It was the first time he'd ever called Snape 'sir' without malice.

"So you _do _have a soul," Alex grinned at Snape and her partner bit his lip in amusement. "Good for you!"

"Ha ha, fun-ny," Snape frowned. "I meant what I said, you know. I will fail you, Detective, if you don't do the work--and don't tell me that he will, Detective Eames. He'll prove it to me or he'll have points docked. He can ask his nephew."

At this, Harry scowled. "You Vanished my potions last year, Professor, and wouldn't let me make up any work--"

"You can make it up now, Potter, and I expect you to--without haste--_read and follow all the directions _this time."

Harry sighed, figuring this was as good a chance as he would get. "Yes, sir, I will."

"Well," Professor Dumbledore said brightly, his blue eyes twinkling merrily. "I believe Mr. Dursley now has a decision to make."

Dudley looked back at Professor Dumbledore, his body again flooded with anxiety. "Y-yes, sir?"

But Professor Dumbledore was still smiling. "Dudley, would you like to attend Hogwarts? With enough tutoring you should be able to take the Ordinary Wizarding Levels at the end of the summer holiday so as to, hopefully, be in the sixth year with Harry at the start of the regular term. If Harry consents to let you borrow some of his gold, we will buy your supplies in Diagon Alley tomorrow when Detective Goren--Bobby--gets his."

"You're being tutored in magic, too?" Dudley asked, looking at Bobby who smiled a bit and nodded.

"I-I only found out I was a wizard y-yesterday. I accidentally Apparated from my apartment in New York to the Three Broomsticks pub in Hogsmeade--uh, t-the village down the road--uh, i-in my sleep."

_Damn it._ He hated being nervous. _Stupid stammer._

"Wow. What's 'Apparating?'"

"Apparating is magically vanishing yourself from one spot and appearing almost instantly somewhere else," Harry explained, grinning at Bobby, who was blushing deeply again. "We'll get tested for it next year when we turn seventeen and, if we pass, get our licenses."

"Is that like a driver's license?" Dudley asked, now excited.

"Sort of. But I already have a broomstick. You'll learn how to fly, too, I think. Madam Hooch'll teach you. She referees Quidditch matches, as well."

"_What _matches?"

"Quidditch," Harry said, resisting the urge to go off on a tangent about his favorite sport. "You'll see. First, you've got to get Sorted. I'm in Gryffindor House. So is Uncle Bobby. Professor McGonagall is our Head of House. The other Houses are Ravenclaw--that Professor Flitwick's House. He teaches Charms. Hufflepuff is Professor Sprout's House. She teaches Herbology--" Harry nodded to the Professors in turn and they all smiled and waved at Dudley, who blushed. "And Slytherin is Professor Snape's House. Like he said earlier, he teaches Potions."

"I sincerely hope I don't have to repeat myself about performance," Professor Snape said quietly, watching Dudley down his hooked nose.

"N-no, sir."

"Excellent," Professor Dumbledore said, turning to Professor McGonagall. "Professor, would you..." He smiled and took the parched, filthy hat and three legged stool from her and set them on the floor before Dudley. Then he turned to Petunia. "After Dudley's Sorting, I will send you home with a Portkey. Dudley shall return to you next summer."

"Professor," said Harry, remembering suddenly. "About the blood--"

"I still have it on my person, Harry, and I assure you it won't go anywhere. Once Dudley is Sorted, we shall get yours and Bobby's...accommodations for next summer settled. I assume you'll want to live with him in New York?"

Harry grinned widely and nodded.

"Well, then, Dudley, if you please, simply sit on the stool and put on the hat."

"That's it?" Dudley had obviously been expecting something more difficult.

Professor Dumbledore nodded and Dudley sat down, his face still bright red. Bobby frowned, commiserating with him in every way. Alex smirked and poked him in the side. Bobby jumped slightly and threw her an annoyed frown. Professor McGonagall glowered at them yet again and they froze at once. Harry stifled the urge to laugh.

Dudley sat on the stool for nearly four whole minutes before the Hat shouted, _"Ravenclaw!"_

Harry, who hadn't been expecting that at _all_, felt his mouth drop wide open and his eyes expand well beyond their usual limits. Surely, _surely _Dudley hadn't been Sorted into Ravenclaw. Slytherin, maybe, or Hufflepuff. Perhaps even Gryffindor, but _Ravenclaw_?

Dudley emerged from underneath, shaky and pale. Bobby strode forward and patted him genially on the back. Professor Flitwick immediately came forward and shook Dudley's hand enthusiastically, telling him how happy he was that Dudley was in his House and how much he looked forward to teaching both he and Bobby. Harry was rooted to the spot in the sort of stasis that comes with having had a great shock. Alex snickered and grabbed his collar, giving him a good natured shake.

"Come on, he's obviously not an idiot."

"Yeah, but...but _Ravenclaw_? I would've thought Uncle Bobby'd be a cert for that House, not Dudley. His marks were atrocious."

"Maybe he didn't try because he wasn't challenged. Were you?"

"Well...no, not at all, but I would've gotten in loads of trouble if I'd gotten bad marks. I already got into trouble for things I couldn't help and I didn't want to add to it."

"Well Dudley wasn't expected to try, so he didn't. If there's anything I learned from being partnered with Bobby for four years, it's human nature. And kids can be resilient. Not to mention, impressionable. Tell them they're idiots and they'll be idiots. And they'll stay that way for as long as they please. I bet you Dudley was just as bored as you were."

"The Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin, but I chose to go in Gryffindor. If it considered Ravenclaw, it certainly didn't tell me."

Alex snorted, "Human nature, Harry. You're too much trouble for Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. From what I see, Gryffindor and Slytherin have all the troublemakers."

Harry grinned and laughed before going with Alex to congratulate Dudley on finally stopping being a complete prat.

* * *

I am bottled, fizzy water and you are shaking me up  
You are a fingernail running down the chalkboard I thought I left in third grade  
Now my only consolation is that this could not last forever  
Even though you're singing and thinking how well you've got it made

* * *

"Messrs. Potter and Goren," Dumbledore said, attracting their attention with his oddly formal address. "If you would both kindly come here, please." 

Trepidation filling him again, Bobby glanced at Harry to find him equally startled. Sighing inaudibly, he walked over to stand before Dumbleldore, a subdued expression now upon his face.

"Now, now, Bobby," Dumbledore comforted. "There's no need to be so downhearted. Yourself and Harry, if no one else--which I sincerely doubt--will benefit from this procedure a great deal."

Bobby, knowing this, tried to at least _look_ a bit happier at the prospect of possibly having more of his blood drawn--even if it was by his own hand--but failed miserably.

"I know, Professor. It's nothing; really, I'll be alright."

"Yeah, Professor," Harry agreed in an similarly listless voice. "Just...ignore us."

"You know better than anybody, Harry, that I cannot do that and will not even attempt it."

"Yeah, I know. Right," Harry stuck out his arm, waiting for Dumbledore to do whatever it was. "So, where's the knife?"

"The knife, I believe, Harry, is again stowed in your uncle's pocket."

"You're not going to cut us?"

Bobby's sharp intake of breath and the mystified expression on his face garnered Harry's attention. He looked back at the headmaster. "You already did it, didn't you?"

"No, Harry," Bobby said softly. "We did."

Harry watched as the smile on the headmaster's face grew larger. "That was..._dodgy,_ that was," he said once he'd caught on. "You know that, right?"

But Dumbledore only looked more pleased.

"Erm," Aunt Petunia said weakly from her place on the other side of the room. She looked as though she still didn't not want any part of this but her curiosity was getting the better of her. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

Bobby mastered the urge to tell her just where she could put her misunderstanding and, instead, let the headmaster talk.

"Petunia, when you took Harry in, the blood connection that you had to your sister and that she had to Harry enabled him to be safely guarded in your home from harmful forces outside. You made that _choice_ despite having no fondness whatsoever for the boy you took in. You made that _choice_ because no matter how much you blamed Harry for your sister's death, somewhere in you, you understood and understand that he needs and deserves to be protected as much as Lily _and_ James did. In short, you _chose _to put his overall safety above your petty dislike of your sister. Bobby, on the other hand, made that choice the moment he found out about Harry. Harry did the same when he found out about Bobby. The only things holding them back were _their own fears_, brought on by the traumatizing events in their pasts that have helped shape who they are. They needed to rise above the _helplessness_ that has entrapped them both for so long. And so they have, each to save the other."

"But Professor," Harry asked, now confused. "What am I saving Uncle Bobby from?"

"As to that, I cannot, at the moment, say, Harry. However, I assure you that you are."

"So the fact that we let you take our blood..."

"Shows just how much you're willing to sacrifice, to set aside. In other words, your _lives._"

Both Bobby and Harry took time to think about that before matching grins broke on their faces.

Alex came over and hugged them both. "So, this is great. I have to look out for both of you now. I won't be able to stand the stress."

"We'll make up for it by doing our best not to get kidnapped or killed," Bobby murmured, hugging Alex back and trying to ignore the lightheaded feeling he got from it.

"You'd better," Alex said, letting go and backing up. "Because my mom, for one, wouldn't forgive you for going off and getting yourself killed. She already gets after _me _because I don't make you eat and sleep more--like that's my fault." She looked at Harry. "You better not have those same ridiculous habits. Going off food and sleep…"

Harry's guilty expression made her sigh in a long suffering way. "I should have known. I swear…"

"Harry," Dudley said, coming back over with Professor Flitwick. "Professor Flitwick says that your mum was really good in his course."

"Yeah, I know," Harry agreed. "Ollivander, the wand maker, told me when I got my wand. He said my dad had a good wand for Transfiguration. You'll both meet him tomorrow when we go to Diagon Alley."

"What's your wand good for?" Bobby asked, and Harry hesitated before answering.

"Defense."

Bobby watched him for a bit and Harry knew he was performing Legilimency on him even if he didn't mean to. Concentrating on keeping his mind empty, he tried to Occlude Uncle Bobby so as to keep him out, but not so as to be perceived as rude.

Uncle Bobby seemed to know what he was trying to do because he looked away. Across the room, Harry never noticed Professor Snape watching them both with an intrigued look in his eye.

* * *

The stage is set!  
The stage is set, don't forget to read  
Between the lines

* * *

Harry led the way back to his, Alex's, Bobby's--and now Dudley's--rooms that night, still a bit wired from the events of the day. Still, he knew that he would need to be well-rested to meet his friends the next afternoon. Flopping down on the couch, he lay back and stared at the ceiling. 

"Anything interesting on?" Alex asked, coming to stand over him. "I mean, if I have to miss the season finale of CSI: New York, there better be something better to watch."

"What?" Harry asked, sitting up in confusion.

"You don't watch much television, do you?" Alex asked, sweeping Harry's feet onto the floor and sitting down next to him as he sat up.

"Not really. I've got better things to do."

Alex snorted, "Well, I'm a cop. Television is an escape."

"You are a cop who watches law enforcement procedurals," Bobby's voice carried over from the kitchen area. "How is that an escape?"

"Because I get to admire Miguel's butt, that's why. I can't do that with you."

"Sorry, I forgot. I didn't mean to come between you and fiancée."

"Goren, I can get an excellent shot off from right here."

Bobby came in the living area followed by Dudley, chewing on a Chocolate Frog he'd gotten somewhere. "You're threatening to shoot me again? There isn't a Sak's Fifth Avenue anywhere near here."

"I have nightmares about that day, I'll have you know."

Bobby grabbed a random book from one of the shelves and sat down next to Alex before flipping it open and beginning to read. He seemed completely at ease with the animated pages. "You do not. And...and I was attentive."

"My ass, Goren. Now that box of Krispy Krack, _that_ was an apology."

"Krispy _what_?" Both Harry and Dudley were staring at them with widened eyes.

"Don't worry," Bobby said, grinning apologetically. "Inside joke. Um, the-there's this doughnut franchise in the States called Krispy Kreme, but--and this is the thing: those are, quite possibly, the greatest doughnuts ever made."

"And since you're cops, you'd know," Harry smirked, attempting to duck as Alex whacked him with a pillow.

"Shut up, Potter. We can always smuggle you back to the States and throw you in a holding cell at Rikers or Sing-Sing."

"That-that's illegal! And-and-and _wrong!" _Harry yelped, his arms over his head.

"_Anyway,_" Bobby continued, smiling nonetheless. "The damned things are addictive. I suggested that perhaps they lace them with contraband instead of confectioner's sugar. Which is when Alex and I started calling them 'Krispy Krack.'"

"That is...you two are weird." Harry grinned proudly, standing up and stretching. "I guess I should go explore my room some more. I think I saw DVDs, which wouldn't make sense unless they're powered by magic, as well."

"I found out my own collection of DVDs seem to have teleported from my apartment to Hogwarts." Bobby paused. "Or someone's read my mind. Who knows?"

"What movies do you have?" Harry asked, curious.

"'The Matrix' trilogy, the 'Lord of the Rings' trilogy--"

"Geek heaven, in other words," Alex cut in, ruffling Bobby's hair affectionately.

The geek in question continued, now smiling a little. "Tim Burton's 'The Nightmare Before Christmas,' Stephen King movies, 'Pi' and 'Requiem for a Dream by Darren Aronofsky--"

"You _watched_ that?" Harry asked, paling a little. "I heard that movie is one of the most depressing ever made."

"Yes; I enjoyed it. 'Brave New World--'"

"They made that a _movie_?" Alex interjected, genuinely surprised.

"Yeah. I was surprised, too. And delighted, of course."

"Yeah, well, no movie watching tonight. You've got school tomorrow," she added in a teasing voice.

"And here I thought I was done with grade school torture. I'm trying to remember was there some mortal sin I committed that--"

"No, of course not, now stop being so pessimistic. You're going to get to learn to fly a broomstick! I only had stupid gym class."

"You probably kicked ass in gym."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Bobby."

"I was trying to get somewhere? How about Brooklyn, New York?"

"Sleep, now, my prince."

"Your what?"

"Okay, no more banter. Honestly, this is like those three am phone calls you're so reliable for."

"Remember when I said you guys were weird?" Harry asked, looking his uncle and Alex over with slight unease.

"Don't you have Potions sometime tomorrow?" Alex asked, frowning. "Go to bed."

"Want to know what books they brought me?" Bobby asked, suddenly.

"I think Alex will kill us if we don't go to bed."

"He learns quickly, this one." Alex said, watching Bobby dangerously.

"You're so _mean_ to me!" Bobby whined, grinning despite his feigned disappointment.

"Tell him at breakfast tomorrow!"

"But--"

"Goodnight everyone," Dudley said, cutting Bobby off before he could get himself into trouble.

"Goodnight," Bobby said dejectedly, mock pouting.

Harry waved and closed the door before sitting down at his new desk and opening his laptop. Turning it on, he began setting up _Windows XP_ and took out the _Adobe Photoshop CS_ CD-ROM in preparation for downloading it onto his hard drive. As usual when he was working with things he really enjoyed, Harry got a shiver of anticipation as he stood up to get a book.

The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams looked perfect.

Around three am, when he was well into page 100 and the end of the very short Chapter 22, Harry's computer beeped and told him that all of his programs were finished downloading. As of 2:54 am, Marvin the Paranoid Android was driving Arthur crazy so he'd stomped off, slapping his arms to 'try and get his circulation a little more enthusiastic about its job.'

Turning off his laptop, Harry turned off the light and tumbled into bed. He was asleep moments later.

* * *

Falling from the top floor  
Your lungs fill like parachutes  
Windows go rushing by  
People inside, dressed for the funeral  
In black and white, these ties strangle our necks  
Hanging in the closet, found in the cubicle  
Without a name, just numbers on a resume  
Stored in the mainframe, marked for delete!

* * *

**A/N:** Well, this one took a lot less time to write. I figure I'll have all the time in the world to get out as many chapters as I like. However long it takes won't matter. Hope you enjoyed it. 

**Next chapter:** Bobby and, now, Dudley _finally _go shopping in Diagon Alley. There will also be a flashback featuring a surprise visitor to the Granger household in the days leading up to chapter one.


	9. The Sound of Settling

**Ominous  
**_By Angelfirenze_

**Disclaimer, etc.:** Duh. For future reference, there will be quotes from books, movies, etc. sigh I guess that covers all the disclaimers from now on. I think. If I come up with anything else I don't own, I'll put it in. I'm following the lead of the great Cassandra Claire and saying that Hogwarts students can sit at any table they choose, despite not being in that House. And on another note, let me say right now that I believe R/Hr to be completely implausible, myself, but if others love them together, then who am I to complain? Ship and be merry!

**Summary:** Whatever happens, happens. But, I have to say now that there will be **_SPOILERS _**of varying degrees from the entire series, so if you haven't read the last two and plan to at some point, keep FAR, FAR AWAY. Wait to read the rest of this story after that, please. There. If you ignore that glaring warning, in the words of Mrs. Weasley, on your own head be it.

**Notes: **Nothing at the moment. You know, I think the most effort writing this story goes into the stuff in the header. The story writes itself, really. Either that or I've been possessed. Which would be bad. …whimper…

**Amendment:** I thought of a note or, rather, several. I've read the extraordinary X-Files fic, 'Beautiful,' by Gauri (user ID: 312925), and would like to include the plot point that Scully _did not_ give William up for adoption (I agree, Heather, it was a total wussing out on Scully's part) and she and Mulder are raising him in a compound in D.C., waiting for the invasion. That means that, here, most of the ninth season _did not_ happen. Maybe the first couple of episodes. Mulder did get fired, unfortunately, and Scully, of course, left of her own free will. Mulder and Scully are national heroes. Skinner, Doggett, and Reyes, too, but on a lesser scale. Jeffrey Spender's not grossly mutilated and CSM's not dead, because if cancer couldn't kill him, and Mulder and Scully couldn't kill him, then falling down a measly set of stairs would never be enough. He just had some broken bones that healed painfully and slowly, which he well deserves. Asshat. ::pause:: Getting off-topic. I have too many separate plot plans for a sequel, which can only happen if I manage to get through this first one. Anyway, they won't be making an appearance in this fic, but will be mentioned. Probably a lot. I love that it doesn't count as a crossover because of our dear John Munch.

**Dedications:** To blucougar57, who writes some of the most well-written, heart-wrenching L&O:CI fics I've ever read; to The X-Pig for not shooting me down when I broke the bottle the Mulder/Goren ship, not to mention being my X-Files dealer and feeding both our raging habits; to jenntrennuyen for all those aforementioned subversive videos; to everyone else who's ever commented on my Livejournal; to the authors, etc. of every book, CD, album, and DVD I ever intend to own; and to emo (may you decide on your own definition). You know, I sound like I'm dedicating my first real book or something.

Part VIII: The Sound of Settling

* * *

Another knife in my hands  
A stain that never comes off the sheets  
Clean me off, I'm so dirty, babe  
The kind of dirty where the water never cleans off the clothes  
I keep a book of the names and those only go so far  
'Til you bury them  
So far and down we go

* * *

Malfoy Estate  
Wiltshire, England  
Saturday, 19 June 2004  
11:21 pm 

_Glass shattered above Draco's head as he ducked to avoid being hit in the face with a curse he could barely name, let alone perform himself._

"_Father, please--"_

"_You dare dishonor me! You dare defy me!"_

"_I'm not--"_

"_Don't talk back to me, boy!" Lucius roared, hurling another curse at him. If only he'd been more careful, he never would've been caught. He could have tried harder and he would be somewhere in the village by now. And to think, some of his more carefree classmates were worried about their O.W.L. results._

"_I presented you to the Dark Lord; I thought you properly prepared to serve him. And he tells me you have been planning to rebel, to run away--"_

"_I won't be a murderer!" Draco yelled, a surge of valor and reckless daring having come over him. "I won't serve him!" He spat, a sour taste in his mouth at the very thought. He glanced at his mother hopefully, in need of support. None was forthcoming and he turned back to his father._

_At this not entirely unexpected (though entirely reviled) response, Lucius became quite still and silent, his brow arched. "Such arrogance. You...won't, will you? And I suppose next you'll tell me you're in love with the blood traitor Weasley girl."_

_Draco's breath hitched involuntarily. Lucius' cold eyes widened slightly and he became deathly quiet._

"_So, it's true," he said delicately, the gleam in his eyes clearly showing just how much he enjoyed watching Draco squirm. "My son, pureblood, by all accounts the Prince of Slytherin House, in love with the blood traitor Weasley's filthy little--"_

"_She's not filthy," Draco snarled, his fists clenched so hard his fingernails cut into the palms of his hands. "And I won't serve him. Find someone else to be The Dark Lord's errand boy."_

_Lucius stared at him now, his face blank, and his cold blue eyes trained on Draco. "If that is your wish…"_

_Draco didn't have time to duck before there was a blinding flash of green light. _

_Draco had woken up on the grounds of Malfoy Mansion hours later, his head aching, a great gash in his face bleeding down his neck. Staggering to his feet, Draco looked around to find it had long since gone dark. He had to leave, he realized at once. There was only a matter of time until his father would forget his 'kindness' and come to kill him. He couldn't go to Ginny's house. Her brothers would curse him into oblivion and, at any rate, he didn't dare give his father any reason to come after her or cause her family harm. There was only one thing for it. Checking the inner pocket of his robes where he'd hidden his miniaturized trunk and his wand, Draco bit his lip. Taking a moment to heal the wound in his face and steady himself, he took out his handkerchief and mopped up the remaining blood as best he could before going down into the Muggle village to try and find a place to spend the night... _

_It was pure luck that the proprietor of the inn in the village gave him a break and let him spend the night. After trying for hours to sleep, he got up and went to his trunk to dig out a piece of parchment and a quill. There wasn't any going to Potter for aid, he knew that much. There wasn't any way in hell that Weasel--Weasley would help, either. That left Hermione Granger, who might be persuaded to forgive him for his callousness toward her. Spectacular, he thought miserably. Sighing heavily, Draco sat down at the desk and began to write a letter..._

* * *

The glove compartment isn't accurately named  
And everybody knows it  
So I'm proposing a swift orderly change  
Because behind its door there's nothing to keep my fingers warm  
And all I find are souvenirs from better times before the gleam of your  
Taillights fading east to find yourself a better life

* * *

The Granger Household  
Oxford, Oxfordshire, England  
Sunday, 20 June 2004  
7:21 am 

_Holden Granger felt his eyes open of their own volition, something the rest of him protested against every day to no avail. It was of his opinion that if he never got out of bed then the rest of the day would simply not happen. Whether this hypothesis made any real sense or had any basis at all in reality wasn't important. His parents had gone on for weeks and days about how his eleventh birthday was coming up and the 'lovely party we're going to throw you,' as his mother had said. His father, thankfully, had listened to his plea for no such affair and for his simply accepting presents and that being it. In truth, he felt the presents might be too much. He had everything he wanted; it wasn't as though his parents didn't feed and clothe him, or that they treated him with disdain or lack of affection. So why all this extra fuss? At any rate, his mother had put her foot down and insisted that he would be getting presents. His father had smiled bracingly at his son and told him, "You don't get to be eleven every day, son, enjoy it while it lasts."_

_Holden had been tempted to ask exactly what there was to enjoy about being eleven. He'd be starting Eton soon and would again be the runt of the runts, as he always seemed to be the smallest student in his year. The larger boys had always seen to it that he dare not enjoy anything, let alone being eleven, and gave him no reason at all to hope that things would be different this year. Hermione would be going back to her special school in September to start her sixth year. It used to be that he could talk to her any time he wanted over the summer and an owl would come from her school during the school year and bring happy letters about how she and her friends were getting about; usually including some sort of trouble or dangerous situation, but now it seemed she was sad all the time, scouring the magical newspaper she read each day, looking for all these terrible things that seemed to be happening. Last year she had told him about her friend, Harry Potter, being abused mercilessly by the Ministry of Magic, whoever they were, and the Minister of Magic himself saying things about Harry being crazy. It had made her miserable and Holden unhappy in return because there didn't seem to be anything he could do. This year didn't look to be any different beyond the fact that the paper seemed to have done a complete one-eighty, now talking about how great Harry was and how special. Every morning Hermione scowled at the front page and dove inside, nibbling at her food while making sounds of disgust and sadness, muttering abusive comments about their sudden 'Chosen One' nickname for Harry. _

_Having gone downstairs and settling himself across from her, he glanced at the paper, The Daily Prophet, once before doing a double take and staring in shock. Sprawled across the front page today was a moving picture with a large caption about how a family of wizards and witches had been murdered and their home destroyed. It was the second such caption in the last week, as a matter of fact._

"'_Mione," Holden said quietly, abandoning his cereal for the time being. "What's going on? Who's dead?"_

_Their father's concerned face peeked around the corner of his regular paper, his eyes showing concern and wariness. Their mother, thankfully, was in the kitchen and didn't hear anything._

_Hermione sighed, "I shouldn't be reading the paper around you."_

"_Oh come on, it's a newspaper--"_

"_It's all so sad, though, Holden. I don't want to ruin your birthday."_

_Holden looked at her with what she called his 'serious face.' "Hermione, tell me."_

"_Emmeline Vance was found murdered. I met her briefly last year when I was staying with Harry, Ron, and Ron's family in London. Susan Bones? She's in my year but in Hufflepuff House. Her grandmother, Amelia, was found murdered in her house, as well. And there's also the Diggle family and an employee of the Prime Minister, Herbert Chorley, has been taken to St. Mungo's under suspicion. From the looks of it, he's been under the--a curse. He tried to kill several people and quacked like a duck on alternate intervals." _

"_You're kidding," Holden said, smiling darkly. "He tried to kill people and quacked while doing it?"_

"_It's not funny, Holden," Hermione said disapprovingly, frowning. "People are dead--"_

"_I know, I'm sorry. I don't mean that it's funny."_

"_Yes, well, enough of that horrible business," Mrs. Granger said, coming into the dining room to collect their empty breakfast dishes. "Today is Holden's birthday and it'll be a wonderful, happy day and that's that."_

"_Hermione, you've gotten post," Mr. Granger said suddenly, his eyes on the eagle owl flying in through the kitchen window followed by a second tawny owl._

_Hermione froze, her eyes wide. "Oh my God. Professor McGonagall said that O.W.L. results wouldn't be back for weeks--oh, I've failed everything, I just know it--"_

"_Hermione, you have not," Holden told her, rolling his eyes. "I'll bet you get top grades in every--"_

_Then the tawny owl landed in front of him where his cereal bowl had previously been. The eagle owl landed before Hermione, both of them sticking their right legs out patiently._

"_That's a Hogwarts owl," Hermione said, taking the roll of parchment from the eagle owl, which sat waiting while Holden's tawny owl immediately flew away once his envelope was in his hand. "And, that--that's an invitation to Hogwarts."_

"_What?" Mrs. Granger said, her eyes widening as her husband got up from the table. "Holden's been accepted to your school?"_

"Dear Mr. Granger,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry--"

"_Holden, you're in!" Hermione cheered, jumping up and abandoning her letter. Coming over to Holden's side of the table, she gave him a side-along hug. "You're a wizard!"_

"'_Mione, what's in your letter?" Holden asked, offering her a quirky smile._

"_Oh, let me see..."_

_Hermione read through her letter, her dawning expression of shock becoming more and more pronounced._

"_What is it?" Holden asked, becoming worried. "What's wrong?"_

"_N-Nothing's...wrong. It's just a surprise, that's all. Um, Mum, D-Dad--"_

_Hermione gave the letter to her parents, who read it with matching looks of intrigue and, then, worry._

"_This friend of yours, Draco Malfoy, he's in trouble?"_

"_His father...I can only think of one thing he would have done to make his father try to kill him--"_

"_Try to kill him?" Mr. Granger said, now horrified. "What on Earth?"_

"_He's asking for...asylum? I suppose you'd find that funny, Holden."  
_

"_As a matter of fact, I do. I recognize that name. That's the bloke you always said treated you like crap--"_

"_Don't say 'crap,' Holden," Mrs. Granger admonished, frowning. "Are you sure this boy won't try to hurt you, darling?"_

"_He can be a prat sometimes, but he's never actually tried to hurt me. I went to curse him once, but Harry and Ron stopped me so I slapped him as hard as I could instead."_

"_You slapped this boy?"_

"_He's fine, Mum. I didn't hurt him at all, really. I called him a foul, loathsome, evil little cockroach."_

"_Aren't you full of vocabulary words," Holden said, smirking. "I think we should help him out. He'll owe you, then."_

"_We wouldn't do it for that reason, Holden," Mrs. Granger reprovingly. "If you're going to write back to him, sweetie, you should do it now. We're taking Holden to town to go shopping."_

_Holden held back a sigh. He figured it was the least he could do._

* * *

I'm giving up  
This should always stay out of reach  
I ran down the stairs and into the garden, put both my hands into the soil  
In the spring, you will bloom, like her heart, through the blouse  
In the back of the ambulance as it turned and turned in the street  
(Just one more turn and you won't come back to me)  
As it turned on its red lights, you were turning into red roses but I'm not giving up

* * *

When Harry awoke next morning, the ticking of his alarm clock intruding heavily on his thoughts, he sat up and looked around. Half of him expected to still be on Privet Drive with the Dursleys, mired in the stifling existence they'd tried their best to impose on him for as long as he could remember. Then the events of the previous day cascaded down his memory with the force of a fire hose. He had another uncle, an American wizard and police detective named Bobby Goren. His partner, Alex Eames. Uncle Vernon in jail. Dudley was a wizard, as well. Dudley being Marked by Dementors and almost dying. He was at Hogwarts, in Uncle Bobby, Alex, and Dumbledore's care. He was _home_. Smiling slightly, Harry dragged himself out of his bed and into his bathroom. Walking back out forty-five minutes later and dressing, he continued into the outer part of the flat. Looking around, he smirked at his obviously ill-tempered uncle sitting on a stool in front of the breakfast bar top facing the kitchen. Bobby was steadily draining what smelled like a very strong cup of coffee and studiously ignoring the self-satisfied smirk plastered across the lower half of Alex's face. She was drinking her own similarly robust mug, but seemed far more rested than her partner. Dudley didn't seem to be awake yet or, at least, he wasn't out of the bathroom. Alex took one look at Harry and scowled. 

"You barely slept last night, didn't you?"

"Not true," Harry denied, pulling himself onto a stool as Dudley came strolling out of his bedroom, fully dressed and smiling. "I just didn't sleep _enough_."

"I could kick you both--I already owe _you _God only knows how many." Alex elbowed Bobby in his side, causing him to spill coffee on his tie. He threw her a dirty look before getting up to go change it.

"Hurry up, Bobby," Alex called behind him. "I promised Deakins I'd try to keep you out of trouble; that means getting you to class on time. Something tells me McGonagall wouldn't call a stained tie a good excuse."

"It's your fault," Bobby's muffled voice issued from his darkened bedroom. "You hit me."

"Because _you_ didn't sleep, now come on."

Bobby rushed out of his room, hurriedly knotting a striped blue, black, and white tie that matched his blue shirt as well as the last one had.

"How do you do that?" Dudley asked, puzzled.

"Do what?" Bobby asked as they walked out of the archway and proceeded down the hall.

"Girly stuff like matching your clothes. I thought guys weren't supposed to do stuff like that."

"Who told you that?" Bobby asked, a faintly strained tone in his voice. "Your dad?"

"Yeah...why?"

"Because my dad told me that, too. He also told me cooking was quote-unquote, _'girly.'_ My father who I didn't see from the time I was eleven until I was identifying his body in a New York City morgue more than thirty years later. Your father is sitting in a jail cell. They can hardly talk about what makes a man, now can they?"

Dudley was staring at Bobby's back as he made his way quickly down the stairs ahead of him. Alex, quite used to how fast he walked, simply frowned and glanced at Dudley, and Harry who was thinking about what Bobby had told him in the library.

The group of them all trekked downward to the Great Hall, Harry and Bobby immediately seating themselves at the Gryffindor table. Dudley looked confused before Harry pointed out that Dudley's House's table was at the far end on the right, next to the wall.

"That's Ravenclaw table, but we can sit at any table we want, really. It's usually House rivalries that keep people from doing that, though."

"Which House is you guys' enemy?"

Bobby and Alex both snorted. "I'm going to go with Slytherin for 10,000, Alex," Bobby deadpanned, glancing at her and thinking of Snape and Phineas Nigellus.

Alex chimed, "Do-do, do-do, do-do, do-do, do-do-do."

"Bobby grinned, "Oh, good, the Daily Double. 1,000, please, Alex."

"Are you sure you don't want to make it a true Daily Double?" Alex asked, smirking. "That means over twenty-thousand, five hundred."

"I'm quite certain."

"A thousand, it is."

Harry stared at his uncle and friend, clearly unable to figure out whether to laugh or not. "What game show is that?" he asked, settling for incredulity.

"_Jeopardy_," Bobby mumbled, tucking into his plate of eggs and pancakes. "The host's name is Alex Trebek, hence my partner continually reprising his role."

"Yeah," Alex agreed looking slyly at Bobby. "My partner, of course, is playing against Ken Jennings--"

"No, I'm not," Bobby said through a bite of egg.

"Oh please. I'm telling you, Bobby, you could kick his--"

A few seats away, Professor McGonagall was sliding onto the bench facing them and not even bothering to look up as she reprimanded them yet again.

"If I have to tell you two one more time to behave yourselves, it's detention for a week. Both of you. For now, settle for having one tonight and ten points from Gryffindor--yes, Mr. Potter, from my own House. You should know that better than anyone."

Alex gaped at her, going to protest when Bobby put his hand on hers again. "Don't press it, Alex, it's not that big a deal."

Suddenly she found it very hard to be angry about anything. Sighing resignedly, she poked at the cereal she had just fixed herself, trying to get up the motivation to eat it now that her appetite had decided to abscond. She hadn't had a detention in almost twenty-five years! This was...insane!

Next to her, Bobby bit back a snicker.

"Laugh, Goren," she said softly. "And I will destroy you. It won't be today, it won't be tomorrow, but you have to sleep sometime..."

The smile slid off his face, causing Alex to grin with satisfaction.

Harry sighed, rolled his eyes, and took a bite of the toast in his hand. "Are we getting summer schedules, Professor?"

Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow at him before lifting her wand and giving it a succinct flick. Three slips of paper appeared in thin air and floated down in front of Bobby, Harry, and Dudley.

"It has been proposed, Mr. Potter, in light of your...difficulties during the History of Magic practical exam, that if you wish to retake that portion of the Ordinary Wizarding Levels at the end of the summer, you may. The same goes for Potions. I imagine it would help you be up to scratch if you plan to accept Professor Snape's offer to instruct you in Advanced Potions this fall term."

"Difficulties?" Harry mumbled, studying his schedule and leaning over to examine Bobby's. "If having a false vision of Sirius being tortured by _Voldemort_ and practically having a fit in the middle of the exam counts as _difficulties_, then fine with me."

"Don't worry about it," Bobby reassured him, looking up from his own schedule. "You'll do just fine. I, on the other hand, am not a jock in any real sense of the word."

"But you said you played basketball when you were in secondary school."

"There's a difference between being there to win and playing because you enjoy the challenge. Parents of kids who play sports have been known to beat the crap out of one another over an inconsequential peewee football game--uh, American football, that is. Not--not soccer."

"Heh. Yeah, that sucks. Well, you've never played Quidditch and, at any rate, it's a thinking game, I think. There's not usually any real contact unless someone crashes into someone else."

"Oh, well, that's just _brilliant_. Meanwhile, I'd be bigger than anyone else there, so it's still...just not right."

Harry laughed as he stood with Bobby, Alex, and Dudley to go the front door. According to Professor McGonagall, they were taking another Portkey into London for the day.

"The headmaster never came in for breakfast," Bobby said, having been watching the head table at intermittent intervals throughout the morning meal. "Is there anywhere he goes during the summer holiday?"

"Where the headmaster goes, Detective," Professor McGonagall said while walking past. "Is really none of your business. I would sincerely appreciate it if you and your nephew each did their best to stay out of trouble at least during the summer term."

Then she looked squarely at Harry. "Mr. Potter, your friends will be arriving later this morning by Portkey in Hogsmeade Village outside of the Hog's Head pub--"

"Where that dead girl was found," Bobby said suddenly, stopping short so that Dudley walked headlong into his back and fell to the floor. Reaching down to pick Dudley up and set him on his feet, Bobby's eyes never left the Deputy Headmistress'.

"_Yes,_ Detective, where the dead girl was found. Aurors from the Ministry have been investigating her murder. At this time, there doesn't seem to be a need for you."

With that remark, Bobby's face fell noticeably. Alex patted him consolingly on the arm. "C'mon, big guy. It's your first day of school."

"Is that supposed to cheer me up?" Bobby said flatly, looking at the schedule in his hand. "And, technically, _tomorrow _will be the first day. Today I go shopping. And please don't bring up Sak's again, I beg of you."

Alex grinned at him, a sly look on her face. "Now why on Earth would I do that? What's on your schedule?"

"History of Magic, 9:00 am to 10:00 am on Fridays, Herbology, 10:15 to 11:15 on Thursdays; Transfiguration, 11:30 to 12:30; Lunch, 12:00 to 1:30; Double Potions--oh joy--1:45 to 3:45 on Wednesdays, and Charms from 2:00 to 3:00, Astronomy from 11:00pm to midnight on Tuesdays--hey, we get afternoons off on Fridays. Classes end after lunch."

"Yikes, they're really trying to cram all that down your throat in three months? Wait, I forgot who I'm talking to. This is a man who thinks sleep is optional. But, still, that seems like a lot."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, shrugging on the windbreaker Bobby bought him in Little Whinging. "You'll have flying lessons sometime next week. I suppose I should get down to Hogsmeade--if it's alright with you, Professor McGonagall?"

"Nonsense, Potter, Professor Dumbledore specifically asked that Professor Snape and myself go with you."

"I don't suppose we could persuade Professor Dumbledore to let me--"

"_No,_ Detective, you may _not_ go to London by yourself to buy supplies."

Bobby held back a mutinous reply and scowled as Professor McGonagall walked ahead to the door. Professor Snape materialized seemingly out of nowhere and stood next to the door, a slightly annoyed expression on his face.

Harry sighed and trudged off to join them. Bobby stood still and fumed silently for a split second before glancing at Alex and following his nephew. Under his breath, he muttered, "I'm forty-three years old. I'm not twelve anymore. And I managed to go to Oxford by myself, I'm not _completely _useless."

"You're not useless at _all_, thank you. And maybe you shouldn't look at it like that," Alex said quietly. "Maybe you should look at the fact that since this Lord Voldemort asshole seems likely to find out that you're Harry's uncle, there's every chance he'll try to kill you, too, not to mention torture you beforehand. They don't want that any more than Harry or I do. And maybe there's another reason why they'd be so protective of you. Fondness, maybe? That's _my _reason, at least."

Bobby sobered immediately as they stepped out into the grounds and down the steps. "Really?" he asked quietly, shielding his eyes from the sun and looking at Alex, who was doing the same.

"You should know better than to ask that question by now," Alex asked, smiling at him.

Bobby sighed and smiled, his eyes on the sunlit path under their feet.

* * *

Well, I can't explain  
How we made it this far  
And you should know  
Only you control my heart  
Feelings overshadow reason, blocks out everything  
And all that matters should be me and you

* * *

"So I should get a set of dress robes, too?" Bobby asked, standing with his left arm out as Madam Malkins charmed the fabric of his new school robes to the appropriate height. Dudley was showing Alex and Professor McGonagall his new Ravenclaw robes and Harry was walking around the shop, waiting for Bobby to get finished, his own new robes bundled and packaged. On the chair by the window was his stock of free products from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes down the road. When they'd visited earlier, Fred and George had been astounded to find out that Harry had a wizard uncle on his father's side. Bobby had been supplied with goods, as well and encouraged to come back to the shop whenever he liked to explore. After that, they'd gone to the Apothecary and Eyelops' Owl Emporium for Bobby's new post owl, as well as Owl Treats for Hedwig, before coming here to Madam Malkins' Robes for All Occasions. It had been decided that as long as they were here, he'd get his sixth year robes as it had been determined that he'd gone through a growth spurt in the last several weeks. 

"Maybe. They come in handy sometimes. I don't think they'll be having any Holiday Balls or anything during the summer, but I guess you could wear them when you graduate."

Harry smirked and Bobby wished they'd hurry up and get out of the dress shop so they could get to Ollivander's Wand Shop and he could get his own wand, if only to curse Harry with it.

"There you are, Bobby, dear," Madam Malkins said cheerfully and Bobby jumped down off the stool. He looked at his watch and saw it was ten minutes to eleven. Harry's friends would be there in ten minutes time.

"Harry, your friends will be here in ten; I suppose I can wait to get my wand until then."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I don't mind. I'm sure you'll be happy to see them."

"You know, I think I'd prefer you went and got the rest of your stuff and then I could hear about it later...if you don't mind, that is." Harry glanced up at his uncle thinking he'd see disappointment or sadness. But Bobby was smiling.

"You really think I would?" The older man asked, running his hand through his own hair. "Harry, go. I'm sure your friends will need the time to get over whatever shock they'll experience at the news. I know I did."

"Yeah...Another Portkey, though," Harry murmured, annoyed. "I've had my fill of the damned things, really."

Bobby snorted, handing Madam Malkins a handful of the Galleons Professor Dumbledore had given him from his and Harry's Gringott's vault. Bobby had paled in surprise and tried to give Harry his money back, saying he'd buy his own school supplies, but Harry had disagreed.

"That vault is as much yours now as it is mine," Harry had responded, conviction evident on his face. "It's the Potter-Goren vault. Besides, I don't need all that. I'll need someone's help to spend it."

"You'll do no such thing," Bobby had said faintly, enthused by the generosity his nephew showed, as well as his devotion to a uncle he barely knew. That he was just as dedicated to Harry never occurred to him. "If you want, after you leave Hogwarts, you can go to--to, I don't know, _university, college, _or something. We'll pay for that."

"College?" Harry laughed, and Bobby smiled a bit. "What, like wizard university? To learn more magic? I think Hermione'd like that, really. Ron'd have a fit, of course. I don't think wizards usually go to college."

"Well, you'll be one of the few, then, won't you?" Alex had asked, smirking. "Because Bobby would never let you live it down if you wasted your life away--"

"I would not," Bobby had protested. "Harry will be an adult and can do whatever he likes."

"But if he went to college, you'd love him forever and ever--"

"I'd love him forever and ever anyway, he's family."

"But what would I study?" Harry had asked, smiling and chuckling softly. "Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts?"

"Whatever you want," Bobby had assured him. "Even if it has nothing to do with Defense."

"What did you study at Oxford?"

"Criminology, Psychology, and--"

"You had three majors?" Both Alex and Harry had asked simultaneously, staring at Bobby with disbelief.

"Um...no. Two majors--"

"Because _that's _normal," Alex had cut in snarkily.

"_Two majors and a minor in Criminal Justice."_

"No wonder Carver thinks you'd make an excellent defense lawyer. You know, sometimes I wonder whose side you're on."

"Look, the point is whatever Harry wants to do is fine with me. If he wants to be a professional Seeker for the British National Quidditch Team, fine. If he wants to give up magic all together and be a--a _used car salesman_--"

"You have _got_ to be kidding me," Harry said, spitting out his mouthful of the pumpkin juice Professor Dumbledore had provided and laughing. Professor Snape cringed visibly and cleared away the mess with a wave of his wand. "A used car salesman?"

"If you wanted--but if I catch you dealing--I don't know, some magical drug like billywig stings or marijuana or something, I'm throwing you in jail, myself."

Harry and Alex laughed.

* * *

Lost in the prescription, she's got something else in mind  
Check into the hotel Bella Muerte  
It gives the weak flight, it gives the blind sight  
Until the cops come or by the last light  
And for the last night I lie, could I lie next to you?

* * *

Harry felt his feet slam violently into the ground for the third time in two days. Was it normal that he thought he might be getting used to the effects of Portkeys? Shaking himself a bit, he looked over to see that Professor McGonagall had just Apparated to that exact spot and was waiting patiently as he got his bearings and looked around. So he was right in front of the Three Broomsticks. He checked his watch to find he had less than a minute to get to the Hog's Head. He and Professor McGonagall both set off at a brisk walk and just managed to get there as the bodies of several of Harry's friends fell out of thin air, accompanied by...Draco Malfoy? 

"What?" Harry asked disbelievingly as Hermione, Luna, and Ginny each helped a younger boy Harry had never met before, Ron, Neville, and Malfoy to their feet. "Malfoy?"

Malfoy looked at him and instead of the sneer and general unpleasantness Malfoy usually gave him, the other boy looked almost...shy. He was biting his lip and his silver eyes kept darting this way and that. His usually arrogant demeanor seemed to be replaced with a far more subdued one. Professor McGonagall immediately strode forward and, to his displeasure, brought Harry with her.

"You received our letter, Professor? And Professor Dumbledore?" Ginny asked and Harry shot Ron a look, asking him to explain what the hell was going on. Ron just shrugged and indicated that Harry should listen to McGonagall.

"Yes, we did, Ms. Weasley. We are prepared to let Draco stay here with the rest of you in the interests of his safety."

"Safety?" Harry asked, confused.

"Malfoy's father tried to kill him," Ron answered quietly, and Harry noticed that Ginny had begun to cry silently. "Did a fair bit of damage, according to my dad. One of my mum's conditions for letting him out of her sight was that he had to see Madam Pomfrey as soon as he got here. He wrote to Hermione and they let him stay at their house in Oxford for a bit. We went to go get them after making our house Unplottable."

"That can certainly be arranged," Professor McGonagall agreed and she and Malfoy strode off.

When they had turned the corner, Harry spun around to face the others. "Okay, can someone please explain--"

"Draco's father tried to kill him because he refused to serve You-Know-Who," Neville said immediately. "He wrote to Hermione and she, her brother--" he indicated the new, younger boy. "And their parents let him come to stay at their house."

"Okay. Alright, um, I guess I can understand that. Malfoy refused to be a Death Eater?"

"Yes," Ginny said, fiercely. "And Lucius beat him up really badly. Cursed him. Did you noticed how he was clutching his right arm?"

"No," Harry answered honestly, trying to remember. Then he again noticed the new, dark haired boy. "Don't worry, Madam Pomfrey'll fix him; he'll be fine. So you're Hermione's brother?"

The boy stuck out a hand and Harry shook it. "Holden Granger."

"Harry Potter. So you're coming to Hogwarts, too, then?"

"Yeah. I got my acceptance letter the same day that Draco came. It was a great way to get out of my mother trying to spoil me for my birthday."

Harry grinned and looked at Luna, who was putting something in her pocket. "Hi Luna. What's that?'

"A clipping of my dad's newest article on Crumple-Horned Snorkacks."

"Really, well, I think I've got better news. Listen up all of you..." and he waved them all into the main street and back toward the castle.

* * *

So sorry for the person I became.  
So sorry that it took so long for me to change.  
I'm ready to try and never become that way again  
'cause who I am hates who I've been.  
Who I am hates who I've been

* * *

"So you mean to tell us that you've got an uncle--on your father's side--and he's in London right now getting supplies to learn magic because he didn't know that he was a wizard all this time? And your other uncle is in jail, while your cousin's here, too, after almost dying because of the Dementors that attacked you two last summer feeding off his life force all this time?"

"You know, 'Mione, when you say it like that, the entire thing sounds ridiculous. Look, Uncle Bobby's my dad's older brother."

Harry was trying to keep from frowning at Hermione for her doubt. "Don't tell me it could be a Death Eater trick because I looked at both his and Alex's arms and they don't have Dark Marks. As for Alex, she's not even a witch so I doubt they're trying to kill me. If they were, they could have done it last night or any of the time I was alone with them over the last two days. At any rate," Harry said more quietly, for they were in the library so that Luna could still talk to them. "I looked my uncle up on my new computer last night. He's in the New York Police Department's database, along with all his credentials, work history, his tour of duty in the United States Armed Forces, and his work telephone and cellular phone numbers. His address is there, too. He lives in a third floor flat in Brooklyn, New York. His birthday is the twentieth of August. His blood type is O negative, he's six foot-four inches tall, has been shot in the line of duty, has an incredible solve rate with both the Narcotics division and the Major Case Squad, including two uncover operations resulting in twenty-seven arrests, he and Alex have together handled more than twenty kidnappings with no casualties, and he's allergic to cats and pretty much any antibiotic with the suffix '-_mycin_.' "

Harry ended abruptly and grinned as his friends all stared at him in admiration.

"Well, I guess being really good at saving people runs in the family, then," Neville said, smiling kindly. Harry blushed a bit.

"All that information couldn't possibly be _public, _could it?" Hermione asked, giving Harry a hard stare. "Harry...you didn't _hack_ into the New York--" she gasped, clearly caught between being impressed and reprimanding him for his illegal activities. Harry blushed a bit, smiling as Ron stared at him, open mouthed, and the others gave him more awed looks.

"You could get into serious trouble for that," Hermione frowned, nevertheless keeping quiet so as not to alert Madam Pince to their conversation. "But you probably don't care about that. So...what are they like?"

"Well, Uncle Bobby's a bit...it's hard to describe. You have to meet him yourself. When I first met him, he told Snape off for using my surname instead of my first. And later he and Alex made fun of Snape and told him off again for being mean to me."

"I think I like this bloke already," Ron grinned and Ginny nodded, smiling in agreement.

"He said I could meet up with you guys and that he and Alex would see us in time for dinner. You guys'll meet them all then."

Sure enough, when their group went down to the Great Hall for dinner, Bobby, Alex, and Dudley were already seated at the Gryffindor table, and Bobby and Dudley were both practicing spells with their new wands. Next to Bobby, a large stack of more advanced spell books sat, some open to various pages. Alex noticed Harry and the others first, looking up with a grin and wave.

"Hi, Alex," Harry said, walking up behind Bobby to see which spell he was casting. "You know, none of those are required for the first year."

"Bobby insisted on getting the other six years worth right then. He didn't even wait until we were back yet to start plowing his way through them. If we don't distract him now, we can forget about him eating," Alex said rolling her eyes and frowning at Bobby, who was saying "_Wingardium Leviosa,"_ (making the '_gar_' nice and long) slowly and clearly at the plate in front of him so that it floated up leisurely in front of him.

"Oh marvelous," Ron said in a half-heartedly annoyed manner. "Just what we need, competition for Hermione."

"Shut up, Ron," the witch in question said concisely before seating herself next to Harry.

Ron squeezed in on the other side while Neville, Luna, Ginny, and Holden all crowded around. It was only then that Bobby noticed them all. His plate fell down and he caught it deftly before setting it down on the table, his cheeks flushing darkly.

"You all must be Harry's friends," he murmured, his eyes darting quickly to each face before dropping back to the table. Alex sighed, smiling as she reached out to shake all their hands.

"Alexandra Eames. My incredibly shy partner, here, is Robert Goren."

"Hey, don't you two have a detention with McGonagall tonight?" Harry asked, suddenly remembering.

At this both Alex and Bobby visibly deflated, the former frowning deeply. Ron burst out laughing, promptly choking on his lemonade. Harry whacked him on the back as both he and Hermione glared at Ron in Bobby and Alex's defense.

"Shut up, Ron. They still haven't had nearly as many detentions as I have. And anyway, I think they'll get through it. At least Lockhart's not here to make them answer his _fan mail_." Harry gritted his teeth at the memory of that particular injustice.

"How did you two get detentions?" Hermione asked, turning back to a now thoroughly grumpy pair of detectives.

"We've been irritating McGonagall with our banter since we got here," Alex said, taking a sip of her own lemonade. "And, apparently, saying the word--" she checked for Professor McGonagall's presence at the staff table. Seeing that she was talking to Professor Sprout, she went on. "_Ass_ was the last straw. But I didn't say it. I didn't even finish my sentence. I guess she wants to nip our mischief-making in the bud."

Harry grinned, turning back to his uncle, who was slipping his wand into his robes.

"What sort of wand do you have, Uncle Bobby?"

Bobby looked up, a faint flush coming back to his face. "Uh, a-ash, twelve and one-quarter inches long; one phoenix tail feather. A g-good wand for Transfiguration. But it was a different phoenix than yours. Mine gave three feathers instead of just two."

"Oh," Harry said quietly, hoping Bobby wouldn't continue along the track of his particular wand's origins. "Did he say who yours shared a core with?"

Bobby paused for a moment, biting his lip. "Severus Snape and-and Si-Sirius Black."

Harry, Hermione, and Ron all gaped at him in absolute astonishment.

"Do you mean to tell me that Sirius and Snape..." Harry trailed off, horrified.

"Have a-and had the same wand core as mine," Bobby affirmed quietly. "Which kind of sucks, for lack of a better term. Sorry, I don't mean to be so crude."

"Which really sucks," Harry corrected, grinding his teeth. "And it's alright to be crude; we don't care. It _sucks _because Snape and Sirius hated each other. Snape's not sorry at all that Sirius died. He rubs both my dad's and Sirius' behavior at school in my face every chance he gets. Like he was an angel."

"I told you he didn't mean that," Alex said soothingly, though her eyes were burning in Snape's direction.

"But he did, though," Harry said, abandoning his baked potato. "He hates me, too, because I look like my dad."

"Old grudges are hard to get rid of, Harry," Bobby said, looking him in the eye. Harry had a funny feeling his mind was being looked into right then. "It's hard to stop being angry when someone treats you as badly as my brother, your father did Snape. I saw it, when we were outside the ice cream shop. James used to humiliate him just for the hell of it. It was his idea of a great time. I'm not saying at all that Snape's justified in the way he's treated you or the way he treated your mom, who came to his defense only to be horribly abused for her efforts. I'm saying it might help if you could understand how he feels. I was bullied, too, when I was in school, just as you were. You used to hate Dudley and his gang for the way they treated you. It hurts. Because, well--" Bobby hesitated before continuing. "I'm...odd. I know that. I went through a lot of partners before Alex. They all--well, most of them...thought I was crazy. They swore they couldn't work with me and that I should be committed."

Harry scowled at this, stabbing at his potato.

"When I was in school, it was no different. I was twelve, in high school. I was already too tall for my age. Too gangly. Too smart. Too weird. And, of course, coming to school with blood on your clothing doesn't help, as far as teachers are concerned. Like I told Dumbledore, they ruined my life, calling NYCS. But it all was...for my benefit, or whatever. I-I didn't fit in with my foster families, either. I felt so...alienated from everyone around me. Like I-I was watching a National Geographic special on the human race. I still do, a lot. The only time I was happy was when I was staying with my friend, Matthew's family. But t-that detachment is hard to get out of, to escape. They make New York high school students take this test, the Minnesota Multiphasic Inventory II, to measure how well-adjusted they are. Wanna know how _badly _I did?"

Harry smiled a little and nodded. Bobby sat up straight and indicated Alex with a flourish that made her roll her eyes and smile despite her sadness. "Well, my amazing partner here, was so well-adjusted that she was nominated as prom queen, as she tells me. I, on the other hand, had to go to the principal's office every week to see the school shrink, my scores were so bad. I was not a happy child."

"Well, of course not," Ron said incredulously. "Who'd be happy with arseholes making their fun kicking you about?"

"You don't know the half of it," Bobby said cryptically, before finally returning to his steak and kidney pie. "But, really, what sort of score do you think Snape would have gotten? Or James? Lily? Sirius? Remus? Peter? All of them."

"Sirius said my dad was popular, which I've never been for any real length of time. And great at Quidditch, which--okay, I am, too. But when I screw up, everyone knows it and makes sure I know it, too."

"People are like that," Alex said flatly, still watching Snape.

"Found a new boyfriend?" Bobby asked suddenly. Alex spun around in her seat and glared at him.

"I. Will. Shoot. You."

"You keep watching him."

"You watch everyone and everything! I don't accuse you of having girlfriends all over the place!"

"That's because I don't."

"Not for lack of trying. What was that competition you told me you and your friend Mulder had at Oxford?"

"That...has absolutely no standing here. And, besides, the sneaky prat cheated. Greedy jerk."

"Greedy?" Alex asked, her eyebrow raised. "Is that what you call it, because I call it being attracted to both men and women."

"Did he tell me? No, and he dated men, too. That's cheating. What I'd really like to call it is wrong, that's what. He lied by omission and used it to his advantage. And you forget, every time Mulder sees me, he hits on me. Scully and William be damned."

"All your friends hit on you."

"Not Fin. He and John only have eyes for each other."

"I'm going to tell Munch and Fin you said that."

"What are they going to do about it; I'm three-thousand miles away."

"Who are your friends, Uncle Bobby?" Harry asked, innocently, though he was trying to keep from smiling.

Bobby sighed, having forgotten the others were there. "Detective Odafin 'Fin' Tutola, former Federal Bureau of Investigations Special Agents Fox Mulder and his partner, Dana Scully, Special Agents Monica Reyes and John Doggett, her partner, and former Special Agent Jeffrey Spender--Assistant Director Walter Skinner, and Assistant District Attorney Matthew Lowell. They'll all be happy to meet you. John Munch is Fin's partner in Manhattan SVU--t-that's Special Victims Unit."

"Wow. And they're all your friends from when you were a kid?" Harry asked, now quite interested.

"No, just Fin and Matthew. I met Mulder at Oxford; like I said, he was my roommate. I met Scully, Reyes, Skinner, and Doggett through him and Munch through Fin. Skinner was Mulder and Scully's superior on the X-Files--FBI unsolved cases--Reyes and Doggett now work on them. Spender is Mulder's younger half-brother. He worked on them for a while, too, but he left the FBI, as well, eventually. William Mulder is Mulder and Scully's four-year-old son."

"Mulder is the other Not-Good Jew?"

"That's him. He doesn't practice at all. His wife, Scully--uh, Dana--is Catholic, though."

"Why did you say that Munch and Fin only have eyes for each other?"

"I was just kidding. They'd try to kick the crap out of me if they heard that. Whereas Mulder and Matthew would laugh and ask them out on dates. Then they'd try and kill me."

"Not to mention, Mrs. Azrelo," Alex added and Bobby sighed slightly. "You've missed out on four lunches, now. She'll think you've starved to death without her cooking. Not that her fears are unfounded..."

"Who's Mrs. Azrelo?" Harry asked, leaning on his elbows.

"She knew my father when they were little kids. She owns a Kosher Italian restaurant not far from my apartment. She gives me lunch most days and dinner every weekend."

"Wow, aren't you lucky."

"She insists I'll starve to death. I keep trying to tell her she's wrong, but she doesn't believe me."

"Gee, I wonder why, Mr. I-Usually-Skip-Every-Meal-I-Can," Alex cut in, elbowing Bobby again.

"You're Jewish?" Hermione asked, intrigued.

"My father was Jewish. My mother is Catholic."

"Wouldn't that mean that--" Ron started, and Harry nodded.

"That I'm technically part-Jewish, too, yeah."

Bobby frowned. "According to the Nazis, you would have been all-Jew, whether you practiced or not. You might've been murdered if you had lived in Germany or Italy. Our family was lucky to get out when they did."

Harry sighed, "Hitler would've killed everyone eventually, I think. Madness and evilness does that to people. Look at Voldemort."

"Actually, it's been speculated that it was either Parkinson's Disease or syphilis that made him so irrational and deranged."

"Really?" Hermione said, perking up.

"Yeah, it was," Bobby affirmed, turning to her, his eyes lighting up. "If you look at old footage of _Der_ _Führer_, you'll see his right arm stiff by his side and, occasionally, quaking. Classic sign of Parkinson's."

"Okay, wait," Ron said, suddenly, holding up his hands. "What the bloody hell are you three talking about?"

"Adolf Hitler, the Muggle psychopath who attempted to systematically destroy all the world's Jews during World War II; specifically from the years 1933 to 1945," Bobby clarified and Ron's eyes widened. "This probably inadvertently included wizards, but he wouldn't have known that."

"He tried to kill your grandparents?" Ron asked, visibly shaken.

"Yes, he succeeded in killing my great-grandparents and somewhere around 5.5 to six million other Jews; twelve million European people in all. My father's family was from Italy. They came to New York just before my father was born to escape Benito Mussolini and King Victor Emmanuel III, the fascist tyrants in league with Hitler and the Emperor of Japan at the time, Hirohito, along with his Prime Minister, Hideko Tojo. They spoke Italkian, which is a Jewish dialect of Italian, and regular Italian, both of which they passed on to my father, which he passed on to me and my older brother, along with sign language--my father was legally deaf. We were also taught us Hebrew, for our bar mitzvahs."

"You have another brother?" Harry asked, looking at Bobby in surprise. "So I have another uncle? What's his name?"

"Anthony. He's named after my father. He's an architect and lives with his wife and my nephew in White Plains, NY."

"So, I have another cousin, as well."

"Yes, his name is Aaron Jeremy. He's four in July, a few weeks before your birthday."

"Couldn't I find all this out in one great gush, instead of a meekly trickling stream?" Harry asked, now rather annoyed.

"I'll try my best. I'd like to know about James, if you don't mind."

"You and me both," Harry retorted, frowning. "But I can tell you all sorts about my aunt and uncle. As well as my uncle Vernon's sister, my--Dudley's aunt Marge, who hates my guts, thinks my parents were drunks, thanks to the Dursleys, and let her dog, Ripper, chase me up a tree when I was nine and a half."

"That's awful," Bobby said, finishing his pumpkin juice as he stood. "Well, I should get back. I've got studying to do." Then he paused. "I cannot believe the ease with which that statement fell from my lips."

"Oh, please," Alex grinned. "You study for fun."

"That's not studying, that's different."

"Yeah, right." Alex rolled her eyes and finished off her slice of apple pie.

"You didn't like your classes when you were in school?" Hermione asked, a slightly worried look in her eye.

"Not really. Most of my teachers hated me. They hated Matthew and Fin, too. We were a lot of trouble."

"And yet, somehow, you and Matthew managed to get awards for your grades," Alex countered, eyeing Bobby pointedly.

"That wasn't up to them. I bet if it had been, we wouldn't have gotten squat."

"So you _admit_ to being cocky little bastards?"

"We were not cocky. They were wrong. I just...prodded them in the right direction. And Matthew's just...enthusiastic. They took it wrong, that's all."

"You corrected your teachers?" Ron asked incredulously, grinning. "Bet that'll wash well with Snape."

"Screw Snape," Alex scoffed, and Ron and Harry both laughed. Hermione settled for looking slightly disapproving.

"Do you guys want to stay with us?" Bobby asked, Harry's face becoming illuminated in return.

"Aren't you staying in the dormitories?" Ron asked, but Harry shook his head.

"Dumbledore gave us rooms. You'll see."

When they reached the tapestry on the third floor, Harry said clearly, "Misdemeanor," and the archway appeared in the wall.

They walked inside and immediately, Hermione squealed with glee and dove at the immense number of books lining the walls. It was almost like the Room of Requirement.

"And suddenly, she's ecstatic," Ron said, snorting and following Alex to the kitchen.

"Yes, and you're hungry again," Ginny said flippantly, going to join Hermione with the books.

Neville gravitated to where their trunks were all lined up neatly against one wall, Trevor the toad sitting on top of one, croaking wetly. Harry and Dudley each disappeared into their bedrooms, presumably to change into their pajamas. Luna walked over and sat down next to Bobby, who was reading a copy of Smithsonian Magazine that he had been furnished with.

"What are you reading?"

"Smithsonian Magazine."

"What's that about?"

Bobby smiled at her. "A lot of things. The topics change every month. I have a subscription."

"Oh. That's nice..." Luna trailed off vaguely, taking out her copy of _The Quibbler _and turning it upside down. On the back of the newspaper was a moving advertisement for Spectro-specs, with a free cut-out pair.

Suddenly, though, a flame erupted in midair and a phoenix feather floated down on the carpet with a rolled piece of parchment attached to it.

"It's a note from Dumbledore," Harry said, having come out of his room dressed in a new set of pajamas Bobby had bought him that day in Diagon Alley that were scarlet with golden stars on them. He picked it up and read it quickly before passing it to Bobby, who read it together with Alex.

"Can Draco stay here, too? Of course, he can," Bobby said, frowning. Madam Pomfrey had included a list of Draco's injuries from his father's attack on him. He had adamantly refused to go to St. Mungo's, but would need care until he was fully healed as well as a home, as he was excommunicated from Malfoy Manor.

"He wouldn't have to stay with Madam Pomfrey, Dumbledore maintains," Bobby said aloud, scanning the letter again. "So long as he's properly managed until the rest of his injuries can heal. He's on mandatory bed rest, too."

Hermione was holding Ginny's hand, passing her a handkerchief to dry her eyes.

"I'm guessing Malfoy'll be blasted off the Black Family Tree if someone can manage it," Harry said sourly, thinking of Sirius and that wretched house. "But Dumbledore told me last night that everything Sirius had was left to me. He even did a test to make sure. Kreacher's here, in the kitchens."

Bobby frowned, remembering having met the disgusting, evil house-elf the previous evening before returning to their rooms. The foul, disrespectful little urchin and thrown an all-out tantrum, screaming that he wouldn't be _the Potter brat's _house-elf. He wanted to stay with Bellatrix Lestrange, the woman responsible for Sirius' death. When Harry had tired of hearing Kreacher scream, he'd yelled at him to shut up and the house-elf had immediately lost his voice, pounding on the floor, rolling around, screaming silently. He looked at Alex, who frowned as well, clearly remembering.

"Is this a permanent thing?" she asked, wondering if the wizarding world had adoption agencies and things of that nature.

"Looks like it'll have to be. Since Harry's coming to live in New York with me, if Draco comes to live with us he'll have to come, too."

"Well, aren't you generous?" Alex asked, smiling warmly at him.

"What would we do, leave him here for his father to find him and hurt him again? Or worse? From what I've heard about Lucius Malfoy, it's a wonder Draco's not dead."

"How did you hear about him?" Harry asked, curious. It must have been when he'd gone back to Hogsmeade to meet his friends.

"When Alex and I were talking to Hagrid the day after we got here, he told us about them. About how evil Lucius, in particular, is. From what we've been told, the other Death Eaters don't come close to him, except--possibly--for Bellatrix Lestrange, and she's criminally insane."

"They all are," Harry said, frowning. He looked around. "Hey, what happened to your owl?"

"I sent a letter to my brother in White Plains. I have to wonder if he'll think it's a prank."

"You'd have to have that sort of sense of humor first," Alex disagreed, frowning. "And Anthony knows you don't."

"You've met Uncle Bobby's brother?" Harry asked, and Alex nodded.

"Last year. Bobby was in the hospital and Anthony came to see him."

"Why were you in hospital?" Harry asked, shocked.

"Yeah, Bobby, tell your nephew why you were in the hospital," Alex goaded, her face and tone dripping with sarcasm.

"I had to have my tonsils out," Bobby mumbled, his eyes downcast. "Which Alex thinks is hilarious."

"Your brother came to see you for that?" Harry asked, confused.

"Well, that's what I went in for."

"But?" Harry asked, motioning for his uncle to continue.

"Um...I kind of...slipped. Broke my leg. In the shower."

"The _hospital _shower?" Harry asked, snickering along with Alex.

"You know what? You can--" Bobby but himself short, frowning.

Harry grinned and walked back over to where Hermione and Ron were sitting on the floor with books, now in their pajamas, as well. Looking back over, he smirked at Bobby, who immediately regretted his earlier kindness.

"That little bastard," Bobby murmured and Alex chuckled.

"Like uncle, like nephew. Suck it up."

"I am _not_ like that!" Bobby objected, going into his room, starting to strip down to his boxers and falling onto his bed. Alex's voice floated through his door, telling him yes, he was, and good night.

"You have to get up early for school tomorrow," she taunted and Bobby burrowed under his pillow, groaning.

"Stop teasing me!"

"Hee hee..." Alex said, her voice trailing away. "Good _night_."

* * *

Your famous last words started once your fingers reached the snooze  
"Just nine more minutes, please...  
They all know where to find me"  
And the more I think about it  
Every word that I say was nothing short of  
"A big mistake"  
As you would say...  
"A b-b-big mistake"  
But you let me  
"It's everything you left out  
That's keeping me awake  
And since I'm up  
And since I'm thinking about it..."  
Why don't you just pace the stairs to your apartment like that's where you want to be?

* * *

...tbc... 

A/N: This was a _long_ one. Twenty-one pages in Word with 9 pt. font. Took four days. Lots of distraction. I hope you guys think it's as good as I hope it is. Reviews are more than amply appreciated.


	10. There is No Love Here…

**Ominous  
**_By Angelfirenze_

**Disclaimer, etc.:** Duh. Lyrics from various sources. Partial quote from When Will Jesus Bring the Pork Chops? by George Carlin, which is one of the funniest books I've ever read.

**Summary:** Whatever happens, happens. But, I have to say now that there will be _SPOILERS _of varying degrees from Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. If you still haven't read it and plan to at some point, keep FAR, FAR AWAY. Wait to read the rest of this story after that, please. There. If you ignore that glaring warning, in the words of Mrs. Weasley, on your own head be it.

**Notes: **I completely forgot about Bobby and Alex's detention with Professor McGonagall, so let's say she moved it up to Thursday instead of that Sunday night. feels incompetent On another note, the computer I'm working on does me no favors of any kind. You know the Geek Squad commercial where the guy walks up carrying the monitor with the ax lodged in the top? That's me, except I'm a girl. I'm glad this thing isn't mine. I want to destroy it enough, as it is. It's old and tired. It's not afraid to die. Needs to die. takes a deep breath Okay. Restart (AGAIN) and, then, get back to business. grits teeth

**Dedications:** To Susanna (ehakus), who's letting me borrow her original character, Matthew Lowell, Jr., for my own purposes. Yay her. To Jenn (jenntrennuyen), for forgiving my accidental offense. To Heather (hbomb1013), for keeping me on task when I need it. To the characters whom I have pledged to try to get through this alive, as it were. To Cassandra Claire for writing the phenomenal _Draco_ series. Again, to blucougar57, who seems to have no qualms at all about trying her best to get Bobby and Alex killed or, at the very least, severely emotionally traumatized--though, considering what I've done to Buffy, Harry, and Draco (Jeremy) in my fic, _Blood's Promise_, not to mention, my own original character, John, in 'Forget to Breathe,' which (at the moment) is only posted at Amorous Intent, perhaps I shouldn't talk--and Heather keeps trying to give Mulder a nervous breakdown. I honestly can't wait until the sequel so I can fix all that. Anyway, thanks to blucougar57, I now have a healthy-sized animosity toward most of MCS for being dicks toward Bobby. Blame her.

**Inspiration:** _The Draco Trilogy_ by Cassandra Claire. Now,_ I _want to do something quite different, but that's where I got the idea._Beautiful _by Gauri. All of blucougar57's L&O:CI fics. _Reality: Best Served Cold by A.j. _Thursday's album, **Full Collapse**. Radiohead's **Hail to the Thief**. My Chemical Romance's **Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge**. Hey Nostradamus! by Douglas Coupland. Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger. the curious incident of the dog in the night-time by Mark Haddon. Nothing Feels Good: Punk Rock, Teenagers, and Emo by Andy Greenwald. _The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_--though that's also a book series that I own all of the books to--_Constantine_, _Garden State_, _The Dangerous Lives of Altar Boys_, _The Butterfly Effect,_ and _Stay._

Part IX: There is No Love Here and There is No Pain

* * *

I don't know why you bother  
Nothing's ever good enough for you  
I was there  
And it wasn't like that  
You came here  
Just to start a fight

* * *

Draco walked, slowly and alone, through the halls of Hogwarts, the piece of parchment containing the instructions to where Potter and his uncle were clutched tightly in his hand. It was bad enough that the simple act of walking was making him more tired than he cared to admit, but to have Potter looking at him with pity? That would surely kill him. 

_Wait_, he paused, frowning and mentally kicking himself. He wasn't like that anymore. That was all his father's indoctrination talking. He wasn't supremely self-involved, vicious, mean-spirited Draco Malfoy anymore.

Maybe he'd change his name to make his transformation complete. He smiled cynically to himself. Yeah, that was it. Not to mention, have someone perform a Memory Modification so that he could forget all the Dark Magic his father had taught him. Maybe that would work. Daily doses of Polyjuice Potion to turn him into someone else. But, then again, that wouldn't be solving the problem, just running further and further away from it. He wouldn't be afraid. He sure as hell wouldn't run.

Draco stopped short as he realized he'd ended up at his destination. It seemed only a moment ago he'd left Madam Pomfrey after swearing he'd stay in bed as much as possible. The tapestry before him was immense and unlike any other wizarding tapestry he'd seen previously. It was of a city, full of Muggles, driving in their cars, yelling at each other. Madam Pomfrey had told him that Pot--Harry's uncle and his partner were Americans, from New York. Was this tapestry of New York? It had to be.

Suddenly, Draco had to stop himself from jumping back and jarring his wounds as an archway formed and a rather tall man with unruly black hair, barefoot, dressed in dark blue pajama pants and a matching shirt with a gold shield on the left breast pocket blinked blearily out at him, his eyes obviously unused to the light of the corridor. Everyone was asleep, then.

"You must be Draco," he said, smiling faintly at him. He stuck out a hand, which Draco shook hesitantly. "Detective Robert Goren. You can call me Bobby. Come inside, you're exhausted."

Draco frowned, thinking Bobby was going to try to help him walk like Madam Pomfrey did, but he didn't. The older man just watched somberly, yawning slightly as Draco crossed the threshold. He half expected for there to be some sort of preventive measure that would keep him from entering the flat, like a splinching curse or some such measure, but there was nothing blocking him out. Immediately, Draco paused as he found Harry and the others all piled around the main room in sleeping bags and pillows. Ron was lying on his back and snoring with his mouth wide open.

"Are you hungry?" Bobby asked, yawning again, this time more widely, and scratching his upper right arm. "Y-you missed dinner."

"Madam Pomfrey gave me some soup," Draco said, just as his stomach growled rather loudly.

"Looks like you didn't get enough," Bobby said, smiling a bit before going into the kitchen. "Sit down." He nodded to the stools in front of them. Draco followed his direction, settling himself slowly so as not to jolt his injuries. "What would you like? The food we've got here is mostly Kosher, but it's all delicious."

"Kosher?" Draco asked, not having the faintest idea what he was talking about.

Bobby looked at him, reading him without meaning to. Draco was an atheist, as his father had been. As all the Death Eaters and, indeed, Voldemort were.

"I'm Jewish. Well," he amended. "Part, anyway. My father was Jewish. My mother was Catholic."

"You believe in God," Draco said flatly and Bobby nodded. "Pot--Harry does, as well?"

"Yeah, that's my impression."

"But--" Draco stopped himself short.

"His whole life has been one catastrophe after another," Bobby finished his sentence and Draco nodded, going quiet. "And that was partially your father's fault."

"He let me live," Draco said quietly, his hands gripping the mug of hot chocolate and marshmallows Bobby gave him. "He's going to find me. I know it. I'm going to have to pay. In my flesh, and--"

"Well, aren't we morbid?" Alex asked, padding into the kitchen in her own pajamas, light blue with pale yellow stars. She went to one of the cupboards and removed her own mug, instead making herself some tea with lemon. "Kind of jumping the gun there, aren't ya, kid? Your dad has to find you before he can kill you."

"He knows where I am. He can find me."

"What, does he have some sort of homing beacon on you?" Alex asked, before realizing that Draco wouldn't know what a homing beacon was. "Um, ah…" she looked at Bobby, a searching expression on her face. "Is there some sort of spell that would let one wizard track another?"

"Several, from what I've read," Bobby said seriously, which made Alex's heart sink. "But most of them are rudimentary, temporary spells. The most sophisticated one involves taking a bit of the wizard that's to be tracked and--"

"Well, I'm good and dead, then," Draco cut in, trying to sound flippant and failing miserably, but Bobby went on as though there had been no interruption.

"--It involves a sort of charm, a spell. Some of the wizard's power is siphoned into whoever has cast the spell. It can mean a lot of power; particularly if the victim is extremely powerful, more than most."

"Draco's extremely powerful?" Alex asked skeptically and Draco shot her an affronted glare, to which she responded, "Kid, you're only sixteen. It's a good question."

"My guess is that no matter how powerful a young wizard or witch is, there is still some protection until either they're fully-qualified or somehow brought to Voldemort's attention...like Harry's been...and Neville--what's wrong?" For Draco had just shuddered.

"No one says his name," Draco answered quietly. "I would've thought that you and P--Harry, of all people..."

"Am I supposed to be afraid of Voldemort?" Bobby asked, entirely serious. "Afraid of saying his name?"

Draco nodded. "People are still afraid. He kills people for barely any reason at all. M-my father kills people for the _fun _of it." A harsh, disgusted look came over Draco's face and after a moment he pushed the now mostly empty mug away, no longer hungry. Turning around, Draco's eyes immediately landed on Neville, who was snoring softly next to Harry. He began backing up again until he was impeded by the countertop behind him.

Bobby, who was watching him, said softly, "They tortured Neville's parents into insanity."

Draco started violently, turning to face Bobby, his face pale and anguished, and whispered, "How do you know that?"

He stared at Bobby for a moment before realizing the answer. "They told me you haven't had any magical training. But you can do Legilimency and Occlumency..."

"It's not something I do on purpose, I assure you," Bobby said and for the first time, he looked angry. "Believe me, it's done more harm than good."

"What do you mean?" Draco asked, now confused. "But you could get someone to tell you whatever you wanted--"

"You think I would want to manipulate people?" Bobby whispered, his voice now uncharacteristically harsh. "Use their pasts and their secrets to purposely turn a person into a quivering mass of sadness and anger? You think I would be like that?" His dark eyes flashed angrily and Alex stared, understanding immediately what he was getting at.

_Nicole Wallace...of course..._

"Draco, I think it'd be best if you--"

"Wait," Bobby said, taking deep breaths. He was now facing away from them, leaning on the sink in front of him. "I shouldn't have snapped like that. I'm sorry, Draco. There's no way you could have known anything." Bobby turned to face the two of them again, sighing inwardly before going to leave the kitchen.

"I should go get some sleep. I-I have a busy day tomorrow," he tried to inject some sarcasm into his voice, but it simply came out sickened instead. Draco stared as Bobby went into his darkened bedroom, shutting the door behind him but not locking it. Alex sighed, beginning to gather hers and Draco's mugs.

"He got really angry," he said, faintly, needlessly. "I didn't--"

"You didn't think," Alex's voice cut across his quietly, a slight edge to it. "You certainly have your own gift for figuring out someone's worst moments and turning them against them, haven't you?"

"Isn't that what _he _does?" Draco asked, getting defensive and sneering in the direction of Bobby's bedroom. "And meanwhile, I don't even know who the hell you are."

"Detective Alexandra Eames, you little wiseass," Alex shot back, glancing to make sure she didn't wake Harry or his friends up. "Now, shut up and go to sleep, it's one in the morning."

"You can't--" Draco froze, his mouth still open in derision, beginning to shudder uncontrollably. His already pale skin turned white and he passed out, tilting back toward the floor without a sound.

Alex lurched forward to catch the kid before he hit the ground, going to pick him up so as to lay him on the couch. "Shit," she muttered under her breath, trying to be as quiet as she could while dragging a boy who weighed more than she did around the living room. Hurrying to Bobby's bedroom, she went in without hesitation and waited for a second as her eyes adjusted to the darkness.

"Bobby!" she hissed, going to his bedside and waking him. "Bobby, help me!"

"What is it?" Bobby asked, his voice quiet, sad.

"The kid's passed out, in the living room. He's too heavy for me to carry myself."

Suddenly, she felt Bobby's shoulder brush hers as he hurried outside to see about Draco. Following, Alex explained what happened.

"I called him a wiseass and told him to go to bed," Alex whispered as Bobby hoisted Draco off the floor and lay him on the couch. "He said 'you can't--' before he stopped short, turned really pale, and fell to the floor. I managed to catch him but, like I said, he's heavy."

"He was remembering something. Your remark, or your tone--something triggered a particularly unpleasant memory."

"I triggered a flashback. Great," Alex grimaced. "Lovely. And now I get to pay the kid's therapy bills."

"Well, it was in the paper this morning that Lucius Malfoy was arrested and sent to Azkaban. Now, obviously, he won't be there for very long, but perhaps with the right support we can get him placed in the custody of Aurors and put somewhere else, where it won't be so easy for him to get out and come hunt Draco down."

Bobby took Draco's pulse, tracking it on his watch, before taking out his wand and murmuring something, conjuring a blanket out of thin air. After laying this blanket across Draco, he straightened to find Alex gaping at him.

"I thought you didn't know much magic yet," she said, surprised. Bobby smiled tightly.

"Been practicing some spells for a few hours."

At this Alex frowned. "You're supposed to be sleeping, not practicing yet. That's what these classes are for. Don't tell me you don't like this place..."

"I like it fine. I just..." Bobby trailed off, not sure how to put his feelings into words yet.

"You don't think things are going to change when we get home, do you? You know I'm not going to treat you any different and neither will the captain. We'll both still treat you like the pain in the ass that you are. We would never ignore or slight you..."

She didn't need to say, _like the rest of them._

Bobby smiled a little again, this time more genuinely, but said nothing in return.

* * *

We write to apologize  
We ask to look past life as it goes by  
I know you have sacrificed time  
Life, love, time to fly  
Please consider all things trite  
Forgiveness will be the thing that gets us by  
I know to have something like this  
Broken is hard to fix

* * *

"...and in the end, the goblin rebellion of 1794 was a failure, as Barbol and his compatriots were promptly captured by magical authorities and slaughtered, their heads speared on stakes and burned as torches to light the village square for a fortnight...now, further on the subject of the goblin rebellion of 1794..." 

Professor Binns, a ghost himself, droned on and on, somehow managing to make gory goblin battles sound like filing a tax return. Bobby sat feigning attention, glad he'd managed to read about all this by himself the night before. He knew Alex would be angry at him for not sleeping, but he'd honestly tried, to no avail. Draco's barely bridled excitement at the prospect of controlling people with their worse memories--like a Dementor--had scared him, plain and simple. There would be no way that look of hunger would leave him any time soon. Logically, he understood that Draco wasn't _really _like that. That his father's control over him hadn't waned enough for him to exercise his own thoughts and beliefs yet, but to see that sort of malevolent glee in a child had unsettled Bobby horribly. It disturbed him to think of what Lucius Malfoy was like in person.

Suddenly the bell rang. Was it time to go already? He looked down at his parchment. There weren't any history notes here. Alex was sure to see he hadn't really been paying attention. Quickly, quietly so as not to garner her attention, Bobby flicked his wand in the direction of his drawings and various advanced geometry problems, charming them so as to look like the pages and pages of notes he'd taken early that morning to everyone but him.

Beside Bobby, Alex was fighting to control the smoldering anger she felt at Bobby for trying to hide his obvious distraction from her. Part of her knew that it was Bobby's nature to attempt to keep her from worrying about him, but he should have known by now that whatever he did would only serve to make her worry more, not to mention anger her. She didn't say anything until they'd left the classroom, heading back toward and past their apartment and on to the library. Finally, after ten minutes of silence and no forthcoming explanation from Bobby, she stepped in front of him so that if he wanted to continue, he'd have to run her over. Bobby stopped short, his face blank, but his eyes full of alarm.

"So, partner," Alex said, directing them both toward the adjacent window through which sunlight was pouring. "You want to tell me why you didn't pay any attention to that agonizingly boring speech of what should have been an exciting topic but wasn't? What's more, you want to explain to me why you charmed your paper to make it look like you were taking notes I know damned well you weren't?"

Bobby froze, his mouth falling slightly open, before sinking back toward the wall. "I-I'm sorry, Alex," he mumbled. "I was...distracted--"

"No shit," Alex grumbled, feeling her anger dissipate instantly. He just looked so damned contrite, fidgeting almost uncontrollably. "By what?" She already knew the answer.

"Draco. H-he was...it was u-unnatural, t-the way he was so excited by the prospect of controlling people. That's got to be his father's doing. He looked so scared, the entire time I was talking to him. He only changed once he found out I could do Legilimency and Occlumency..." Seeing Alex's querying expression, he elaborated. "I have the ability to look into people's minds, see their memories, their worst fears...and to keep them from doing the same to me."

Alex nodded, finally understanding.

Bobby started to pace, thinking hard about their encounter the next day. "And, Draco's mind. I could see it, like a picture. He hates what he does, the way his father taught him to act--to take advantage of whatever opportunity presented itself, to slight or fawn on people, depending on their social position in relevance to himself. But h-he's been trying to change, t-to forget everything. The Dark Magic, all of it. He wants to be--good."

"Whoa," Alex said, raising a brow at him. "His father taught him to use Dark Magic? Like what? Or do I even want to know?"

"Two of same three Unforgivable Curses that have been used on Harry, for one, like the Imperius Curse, the Cruciatus Curse--control and pain. The last, Avada Kedavra, is death. Lucius probably taught Draco that one, too, but he's too honorable to use it, _unlike_ his father. But it's instantaneous death, l-like the life is simply wiped from the victim. That's how people l-like my brother and Lily a-are usually killed in the magical world. By Lord Voldemort, Death Eaters, and other Dark wizards, anyway. Another thing Lucius taught Draco was a spell to--"

But Alex held up a hand, now pale herself. "Okay, I get the point. So Daddy Dearest hasn't done Draco any more favors than Nicole's father did her."

"The difference," Bobby stated haltingly. "I-is that...Draco has no desire, no inclination to utilize those terrible lessons for his own nefarious plans. Not that he _has_ any nefarious plans, much to his father's bitter disappointment."

"Boy, Sherlock, and here I thought you'd treat this like some sort of vacation. I should have known better." But she was smiling fondly at him now.

"Are you still mad at me?" Bobby ventured, worried.

"No, but there's not a lot we can do about it at the moment, is there? The best we can do is take care of Harry, Dudley, and Draco until they are fully-grown and able to go out on their own. Not to mention, keep them--and us--from getting killed in the meantime."

"You mentioned Draco," Bobby said, looking at Alex. "Does that mean..."

"What the hell am I going to do, Bobby? Leave him to get killed? I'm not the ogre everyone thinks I am."

"People think you're an ogre?" Bobby asked, and they started walking again, toward the library. "Who?"

"Are you kidding? My reputation isn't all that sparkling, either. I think it's because you and I have been partnered for the longest, even longer than you and Fin were. They think there must be something wrong with me, too. They most likely only realize we're gone because they don't want our caseload."

Bobby frowned deeply. "They're wrong. You're my lifeline, you know that, don't you?"

"Well, I sort of guessed, when you had that fit about me going on maternity leave...I thought it was because you didn't want to be bored, though."

Bobby frowned slightly, "Never mind boredom, I can handle that. I had to do it all through school--"

"The three years you went, you mean."

"I was in school longer than three years, thank you, I wasn't skipped up _that _much. But I mean, it was hard, working with Bishop and trying my best not to scare the hell out of her."

"Oh, that must have been _torture_. After awhile you just said, 'fuck it, I can't take it anymore' and went on your merry way, poking corpses, tasting and smelling mysterious substances without regard to it possibly getting you hospitalized--"

Bobby laughed and Alex grinned, treasuring the sound.

"But, in all seriousness," he continued, sobering quickly. "I missed you. It was...I felt incomplete. Like--like if I forgot my notebook somewhere or my badge, or my handcuffs--a-and I don't want you to take that the wrong way. You're far more than an accessory. But it's--I couldn't communicate with her."

Off Alex's look, he elaborated, "It was all well and good that we could both speak English, but I couldn't get her to understand my theories. It wasn't even the same blank, uncomprehending looks I used to get from my other partners. It was more like, 'I have no idea what the hell you're saying, but I'll go along with you anyway and just hope for the best.' I was lonely, again, and felt like...like a _dybbuk_, really."

Alex smiled, remembering him telling her about them. "A _dybbuk_? You felt like an angry soul displaced from its body?"

"No, no--well, sort of, but...it _was _like I'd been displaced from my body and I was furious and vindictive, and...to be honest, a little of it was at you, but then I felt ashamed because I had no right to feel that way when none of it was your fault. You were off doing this generous, loving thing, and here I am being a selfish son of a bitch because I want my partner back, but can't have her because she's busy--"

"Getting fat," Alex cut in, and Bobby frowned.

"You were not fat. You were pregnant, that's special and important. Men don't get to do that. We just get to sit there and pretend to empathize when, really, we're thanking God that we're not the ones trying to squeeze a head the size of a cantaloupe out of a small opening. We lie and say we'd do it if we could, but we wouldn't. No way. But, really, we're still jealous. I was jealous of you, getting to do this thing for your sister, not to mention being surrounded by overprotective people at almost all times. What was it that George Carlin wrote? _That would explain the hostility: Women got the good job, men got the shitty one. Females create life, males end it. War, crime, and violence are primarily male franchises. Man-shit--_why are you laughing?"

Alex was now hanging onto Bobby's arm, doubled over laughing. When she'd managed to catch her breath, she gasped and looked up at him. "Which book was that?"

Bobby smiled now, happy to see her so amused. "When Will Jesus Bring the Pork Chops? But, that's a terrible thing, my being jealous of you, and I'd get angry at myself about it. I knew I was being selfish. So I--"

"Didn't tell me anything. Ignored me for three weeks because you compartmentalize things even though you don't mean to, and ran off, as usual, headlong into trouble. Scared poor Bishop half to death, swinging pipes at murder suspects--_I_ know there was more to that than you ever told her."

"We never got into a discussion of religion," Bobby asked, now turning bright red. "And I didn't mean to--to ignore you. And I'm not just going to chat about being part Jewish when the guy we're after is going around killing Jews. I mean, I _do _have some regard for my own safety, whether you believe that or not."

"Yeah, right. And you don't even like to chat--much less about yourself." But she was smiling, still.

"I didn't mean to scare her, though. She was like, 'Oh my God, he's going to get us killed!'"

"You think I've never thought that?" Alex laughed and Bobby pouted. Alex turned to face him, both of them now outside the library doors. "Look, Bobby, I want you to know you can tell me that sort of thing. That's what friends do, not just partners. And I want you to know that I missed you, too. Toward the end, there, I would've given anything to be able to go out to a crime scene with you...watch you sniff bodies."

Bobby chuckled, shaking his head. "You wouldn't have."

"I would've, too--how're you gonna tell me?" Alex protested, sticking her tongue out at him. Entering the library, they immediately went into the stacks so as to continue their conversation quietly without incurring the wrath of Madam Pince.

"Remember when you'd just come back and I grabbed that briefcase out of the trash can and you--"

"It could've been a bomb," Alex hissed incredulously. "You could've blown us sky-high and thought nothing of it!"

"Yeah, well, you said, '_It's so good to be back_.' All...exasperated." Bobby deflated and Alex sighed, reaching up and taking his shoulders in her hands.

"You know I didn't mean it like that. I just needed to...become acclimated again. And I have. It doesn't change the fact that you're my best friend, or that we've proved everyone wrong, or that Deakins is really proud of you for not saying 'to hell with it' and quitting when you and Bishop didn't mesh as well. I am, too."

Bobby was about to reply when he stiffened slightly, then, before turning around and locking eyes with Mrs. Norris, who was watching them with her lamp-like yellow eyes. "Get lost," he told her, frowning. "We're not doing anything wrong."

Mrs. Norris hissed at him and, true to form, Bobby hissed right back, grabbing a random wad of parchment off the floor and throwing it at her. "I said, _get lost_."

The mangy cat spun around and dashed off, no doubt in search of Filch. Bobby turned back around, grumbling to himself in Italian. Alex smiled to herself as he switched abruptly back to English.

"We're going to get another detention on top of the one we already have. What _fun_."

Alex looked at him, her eyebrow raised. Bobby could be very sarcastic and snarky himself when in the mood and this looked to be turning into one of those times.

"Right, so--now that you're good and pissed, you have Transfiguration."

"Oh, goody."

"Come on, you can't let McGonagall see you all upset. Besides, I don't want you setting fire to something because you're pissed off at a cat...which, _okay_..."

"Do you know who's cat that is?" Bobby leaned against one of the bookshelves and looked Alex in the eye.

"One of the teachers?"

Bobby snorted. "He wishes. That's Mrs. Norris, Filch the caretaker's cat. I met them both when I first got here. He was the one being rude to me when he could have just said, 'Dumbledore's office is blah-blah-blah.' I accidentally read him yesterday. He's what's called a Squib. A person from a wizarding family who's got no powers--it's like the opposite of Muggleborn. He's especially bitter toward the students because they can do magic, he can't, and he's older than they are."

"You say 'they' like you're not a student," Alex said, smirking slightly.

"Regular students, I mean. But the point is, he's a dick and he's hated me ever since I had the _nerve _to show my ugly face at the front door. 'Stranger butting in,' he called me."

Alex chuckled, "You're not ugly, and he can't be any worse than Snape. And, anyway, we could take them both, I think. There is something to be said for really good guns."

That brought a smile to Bobby's face.

"Aha! I knew I could cheer you up sooner or later. Come on, McGonagall's already biased against us as it is. Let's go."

"You know, you don't have to--"

"Bobby, I'm a Muggle," Alex said calmly, knowing what he meant. "I accept that. Unlike Filch, I'm not going to hold it against you. On the contrary, I expect beyond spectacular birthday and Christmas gifts from now on."

Bobby laughed and nodded.

"Besides, if you _do_ blow something up trying to do a spell, I want to be on hand to laugh my ass off at you."

Bobby made a face at her and they set off for the fifth floor.

* * *

I heard about your message  
And  
How it reeked of your indifference  
So scream louder now because I'm bound to come around  
Oh yeah,  
I'm bound to come around  
I used the inconsistencies  
To undress the machine  
You're the poster boy  
Our selling point  
The focus for their new campaign  
"Something has to be done...  
...It just has to"

* * *

Harry was on the grounds with the others, visiting Hagrid, introducing him to Dudley and Holden, and showing him the new skateboard and some of the clothing Uncle Bobby and Alex had bought him, when he noticed Draco in the distance, standing there. He wasn't making any effort to come closer, just staring. Harry couldn't even see his face clearly, he was so far away. Putting the skateboard on the ground, he nodded to Ginny, who immediately took off running in Draco's direction. Charming his skateboard to glide over the grass as though it were concrete, Harry stayed right behind her. 

When they'd both caught up to him, Draco turned to leave.

"Don't let us get all the way over here only to run," Harry groused, picking up his deck and putting it under his arm. Draco turned reluctantly back around, smoothed down his t-shirt, and shoved his hands awkwardly into the pockets of his jeans. It was obvious he still wasn't used to the Muggle clothing--mostly t-shirts and jeans like Harry's, along with a few button-downs like Holden was fond of wearing, as well as some shorts --Hermione's mother had bought him to replace most of his old wardrobe. Harry suspected that his uncle would want to buy more, later on.

"Draco," Ginny said softly, placing her hand on his cheek. He flinched slightly, but she paid no mind. Harry imagined that Draco must have made one hell of a turnaround not to have Ron, Fred, and George breathing down his neck. "Why don't you come visit Hagrid with us?"

"I..." Draco trailed off, clearly thinking of his third year vendetta against the gamekeeper and Care of Magical Creatures professor. "It's probably best--"

"Don't make me kick you," Ginny said firmly, taking his hand and walking as Harry turned and began gliding back toward Hagrid's cabin. "Hagrid will forgive you. Especially now that you're not under your father's control anymore."

Draco halted. "I'm not so sure that's true."

"Well, until it's true, you'll be staying with us," Harry said, surprising himself slightly. "And Lucius can't get any of us here."

Draco still didn't seem very reassured, but Harry and Ginny let it drop. Taking his hand, Ginny brought Draco back over to where Hagrid and Fang sat out front, enjoying the sunshine of the summer. When his beetle-like eyes landed on Draco, Hagrid smiled genially.

"Mr. Malfoy," he said calmly, noting the way Draco couldn't seem to look him in the eye. "What's wrong?"

Draco then stared at Hagrid in disbelief. "I tried my damnedest to get you _fired!_" he burst out loudly. "I..." he trailed off and looked at where Buckbeak--rechristened Witherwings--was tethered in his favorite part of the pumpkin patch, gnawing on chicken bones.

"I thought that hippogriff was dead," he said softly, confusion coming to cloud his face.

"Yeah, we fixed that." Harry said, sharing a grin with Hermione.

Draco frowned, deciding that if no one wanted to elaborate, he wasn't going to waste time trying to make them. "Yeah, well, the point is _he­--" _he gestured angrily to Hagrid. "Should hate me."

"That's ridiculous," Hagrid said airily, rising to his feet. "An' why should I? You've changed, haven' yeh?"

"Well, yes, but--"

"So that's that, then," Hagrid said, his voice drowning out Draco's protests.

The teenager in question frowned deeply before sinking down onto Hagrid's front step, grumbling to himself. He watched Harry practicing nollies and tic tacs on his skateboard for a while before finally snapping, "What is that thing you're playing with, anyway?"

Harry glanced up and said, "A skateboard. Muggle thing."

"But you're a wizard," Draco countered, now confused again. "What do you need a Muggle toy for?"

"Because it's not a toy. And I've always wanted one. My uncle and Alex bought it for me in Little Whinging..." Harry froze for a moment, then walked over to Hagrid's stoop, took his new black New York Yankees baseball cap that Uncle Bobby had given him that morning (one of two, the other being blue; Alex, to make it even and root for her team, gave him Mets home and away caps, as well) out of his messenger bag and put it on as he narrowed his eyes at Draco and thought. "Aren't you supposed to be bedridden?"

At this Draco bristled visibly. "I got bored. There's nothing I like in my room because unlike the rest of you, they didn't bother to cater to me."

"Probably because catering to you would've emptied all of Gringott's vaults," Ron said, smirking. "And I'll bet when we go in your room there'll be lots of stuff."

"Who said anything about letting you clowns into my bedroom?" Draco asked, feigning malice. "I don't recall putting out the welcome mat."

"You didn't know what a welcome mat _was_ until we told you," Hermione shot back, grinning.

"And anyway," Ginny said, stroking Draco's hair. "We're your friends, not some random strangers."

"Oh that's right," Draco replied, turning to look at the Forbidden Forest so close by. "I forgot. I've got _friends_ now."

"Yeah," Harry said, smirking at the sight of them. "So shut up being stupid. And snogging where everyone can see. I'm getting sick to my stomach from all the painfully obvious flirting."

Ginny whipped out her wand and threw a Leg-Locker curse at him, but Harry blocked it and grinned.

"Tsk tsk, Ginny. Didn't anyone tell you, you shouldn't curse your teacher?"

Ginny snorted, "I'm going to get you back, Harry. Just you wait."

"Looking forward to it."

"Alrigh' you two," Hagrid said standing up and stretching. "It's time fer lunch. Bobby'll be back from his first classes, Harry, an' I know yeh'll want ter hear all abou' them."

And they proceeded to walk up to the castle.

* * *

Something for the rag and bone man  
"Over my dead body"  
Something big is gonna happen  
"Over my dead body"  
This is how I end up getting sucked in  
"Over my dead body"  
_I'm gonna go to sleep and let this wash all over me

* * *

_

"What are you doing out of bed?"

Alex and Bobby both stared at Draco, annoyance and burgeoning anger on both their faces. Draco was sitting at the Slytherin table by himself, his fork hanging in the air over corned beef and cabbage. His self-appointed _guardians _were standing in front of his table, both glowering at him.

"And why were you outside?" Alex asked, elaborating on her earlier question.

"And boredom is not a good reason," Bobby said, frowning. "Are you trying to worsen your injuries?"

Draco felt his hackles rise. How dare these strangers presume to tell him what to do?

"You're not my--"

"No," Bobby cut him off. "But at last count they didn't give a damn about you, unlike us. So I ask--again--what the hell were you doing outside when you're supposed to be in your bed?"

"I went because I wanted to," Draco snarled, not wanting to admit he was stung by the frank statement of his parents' abandonment of him. "And you can't stop me, so--"

"Fine," Bobby snapped, cutting him off. The older man's geniality from early that morning was completely gone again, his eyes dark and face hardened with anger. "I guess you can stay with Madam Pomfrey for the next few weeks. You'll have to, on account of your not having any family to look after you. And when you get better, I suggest you go to the Slytherin dormitories since you obviously don't want to stay with us anymore. We have such stifling rules, after all. Not to mention, _we're not your parents._ You're right, though. We can't tell you what to do or stop you getting hurt from your own stupidity. Why should we even bother?"

With that, Bobby and Alex walked back over to Gryffindor table and sat down to eat, though neither of them had an appetite any longer.

"Draco's not staying with us, anymore," Alex told Harry and Dudley, who both frowned.

"Let me guess," Harry said dully. "His stupid pride won't let him admit he needs help."

Bobby sighed angrily, poking at his lemon peppered fish. He figured it'd be rude to waste it so he made an attempt, trying to chew past the anger and contempt he felt at Draco. It wouldn't do him any good to continue dwelling on the stubborn pride of teenage boys who thought they were too good to accept help from someone else.

"He's not used to having people care about him," he conceded, looking up to find Harry watching him.

"Like you and me?" his nephew asked, shooting him a quirky smile.

"I accept help," Bobby disagreed ignoring Alex's incredulous stare.

"You liar! In order to get you to go voluntarily to the doctor--meaning not at gunpoint--it has to be proven to you that you're either clinically dead, dying, or--at the very least--bleeding profusely from a bodily orifice, preferably due to a bullet or knife wound."

Harry, Holden, Ginny, Dudley, and Ron all burst out laughing. Hermione frowned disapprovingly and Neville grinned nervously, unsure whether or not to laugh or not. Luna watched them all with an interested look on her face.

Bobby frowned before smiling ruefully. _"No thanks, honey. I don't seem to be in a coma."_

"George Carlin?" Alex asked, grinning back and Bobby nodded.

"Who's George Carlin?" Ron asked and Bobby answered, "An American stand-up comedian as well as political and social commentator."

"Bobby's a big fan of his "_Seven Words You Can Never Say on Television_--"

"I am not. I was eleven-and-a-half when he did that tour."

"And I was seven, so what?"

Bobby gasped, "There is no way John Eames would've let his seven-year-old daughter listen to the _Seven Words _tour! There were way more than seven words!"

Alex laughed, "Relax, Bobby, I'm just kidding."

"I hope so, because I was gonna write your dad--"

"No, the hell you weren't." Alex ground out, glaring at Bobby, who grinned cheekily.

"Did you talk to them at all before you left, or do they still think you're in New York?"

Alex froze, her eyes widening. "Oh no. My dad's probably tried to have an APB put out on me. I hope Deakins gave him _some _kind of plausible excuse."

Bobby chuckled into his now cold fish and bit into a forkful. "How ever could you forget?"

Alex scowled at him, "Are _you _planning on calling or visiting your mother, or do you just aim to disappear all summer?"

"Dumbledore and I had a nice chat about that. God bless Apparition and the fact that I can do it already. The problem is probably telling her about Harry. Then there's taking him to meet her eventually, which requires Side-Along Apparition..."

Bobby trailed off and looked at Harry. "T-that is, if you w-want to meet her."

"Why wouldn't I?" Harry asked seriously. "I want to meet my other uncle, my aunt, and my cousin, too."

"Why would you have to take Harry to meet your mum?" Ron asked, confused. "Couldn't she come here? Surely Dumbledore would--"

"My mother can't come here, Ron," Bobby said quietly, beginning to fidget with his napkin. "Sh-she can't come meet Harry. M-my brother and his family could, but not our mother."

"Why not?"

"My mom's in a sanitarium," Bobby said quietly, not able to look Ron or the others in the eye. "Sh-she suffers from schizophrenia--a m-mental illness that causes deterioration of the temporal and, especially, the prefrontal lobes of the brain--which control the ability to rationalize and make decisions--a-and accompanying loss of sanity--that is, a loss of ability to tell the difference between the inner and outer realities. I was talking t-to the portrait of Dilys Derwent in the headmaster's office when I got here. Sh-she told me that wizards have never heard of schizophrenia. M-maybe that's why I haven't developed it. A-anyway, I want to take Harry to meet her and Harry says he wants to go. So that's what we'll be doing on Saturday."

"Oh," Hermione said faintly, her hand coming to her mouth. Bobby's head ducked and his eyes dropped back to his plate. A heavy silence fell over the group.

Beside him, under the table, Alex's hand slid into his and gripped gently. Unlike most other times, Bobby didn't shy away, this time simply gripping back.

* * *

Must of been mid afternoon  
I could tell by how far the child's shadow stretched out and  
He walked with a purpose  
In his sneakers, down the street  
He had, many questions  
Like children often do  
He said,  
'Tell me all your thoughts on God?'  
'Tell me am I very far?'

* * *

**A/N:** You know what? I think I'll just end this chapter right here. Save myself the trouble of coming up with a transition period. Hope everyone liked it. Reviews, again, are more than appreciated. 


	11. Travel By Bloodline

**Ominous  
**_By Angelfirenze_

**Disclaimer, etc.: **Duh. Lyrics and quotes from various sources.

**Summary:** Whatever happens, happens. But, I have to say now that there will be _SPOILERS _of varying degrees from Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. If you still haven't read it and plan to at some point, keep FAR, FAR AWAY. Wait to read the rest of this story after that, please. There. If you ignore that glaring warning, in the words of Mrs. Weasley, on your own head be it.

**Notes:** Bobby's experiences in his early education are mostly made up, but some of the memories are mine. The whole time-telling thing? I did that. I don't remember if I retained that ability afterward, though...

Also, to Lina-Baggins, at first I balked a bit at your idea, but then I started thinking...anyway, who knows?

**Dedications:** To Susanna (hekasu), for reading the chapter with Matthew's first mention in it. She then read the other chapters, as well. Yay. To Jenn (jenntrennuyen), for jumping on the M/G bandwagon several months back. To Heather (The X-Pig), for keeping me on task when I need it. (I hope she's read the reply comment Bobby left in Mulder's journal last night...) To the characters whom I have pledged to try to get through this alive, as it were. Again, to blucougar57, who reads and reviews this story, which makes me really happy because I love her stories, as well. To her version of Bobby's brother for _Nightmare _(which I'd really like her to _update_...) , because I like him much better than in her other stories. He's actually a decent--if flawed--human being, there. I think I'm going to go with that portrayal for this fic, rather than obvious asshole we now know him to be. To Sparta for making such an excellent CD.

**Inspiration: **The Year One episodes, 'One' and 'The Faithful.' The Year Two episodes, 'A Person of Interest,' 'Anti-Thesis,' and 'Bright Boy.' The Year Three episodes, 'A Murderer Among Us,' 'Sound Bodies,' and 'Fico Di Capo.' The Year Four episodes, 'Semi-Detached,' 'Collective,' and 'Great Barrier.' The Year Five two-parter, 'In the Wee Small Hours,' parts I and II. Sparta's Porcelain, The Mars Volta's Frances the Mute, Death Cab for Cutie's Transatlanticism, Bright Eyes' single, 'No Lies, Just Love.' America by E.R. Frank. All the movies I've seen this fall, but most importantly my all-time favorites, _The Butterfly Effect _and _American Beauty. Adobe Photoshop CS' _blood spatter brush, since the older version we have at home doesn't have one and I need one quite badly for the icons, headers, and banners I want so much to makeYou know, most of my inspirations are quite arbitrary and just come to me. The ones that don't have to do with people, that is. And, after all this is my story, these are my passions..._I'm not obsessing. I'm just curious._

Part X: Travel By Bloodline

* * *

Did you listen to his stories?  
He had some stories that would change your life  
This doesn't have to be the saddest day  
We can always hold the brilliant memories  
You're always on my mind  
Turned from tragedy  
A source to draw from  
A bloodline legacy

* * *

Bobby and Alex both walked slowly down to Professor McGonagall's office that Thursday night, dreading what sort of punishment she had in mind. Harry, Ron, and Neville told her about the detention she'd had them and Draco do in their first year. They'd gone into the Forbidden Forest with Hagrid to search for a dying unicorn and Harry had ended up coming face to face with Quirrell while he was possessed by Lord Voldemort instead. Needless to say, Bobby wasn't very happy about the prospects of tonight being merely mind numbingly repetitive, like most detentions. He liked routines and all, had several of his own, but could only go so long being _forced _to perform one without wanting to climb the walls and scream. 

A shiver ripped through him, as happened sometimes when he was anxious, and Alex reached over to grip his hand again. Inwardly, he smiled; outwardly, he continued to look morose.

They reached Professor McGonagall's office and Bobby knocked on the door as he'd seen Filch do the night he arrived here.

The door swung open to reveal Professor McGonagall looking down her nose at them. "I hope, Detectives, that this will not be a frequent past-time between the three of us. I think you would both agree that we have more important things to do than serve detentions?"

"Yes, Professor," Bobby said and Alex nodded.

"Good. Then let us hope this experience will deter both of you from your current efforts to misbehave."

"We--" Alex began, but cut herself short when Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow at her.

Alex sighed and turned, waiting for Professor McGonagall to lead the way to wherever they were going.

Silently, Professor McGonagall led the two American detectives through the halls, downward toward the trophy room. She had never imagined that when she answered Filch's knock on the door four days previously she would help unlock a hidden part of not simply Harry Potter's past, but that of his father, James, as well. Detective Robert Goren, of course, was reluctant to discuss much of anything regarding his own past and part of their family, but Professor McGonagall had seen for herself the man's Muggle school records from when he was a child and adolescent. Astonishingly high IQ, other high scores on tests measuring things such as spatial reasoning, reading level, etc. that had ensured his unusually rapid assent through the New York Public School system. Other, more troubling results included those from a test on adjustment that both he and Detective Eames had taken in secondary school, apparently like all New York students who attended schools open to the public. Detective Goren's score on this particular test had been frightfully low, enough so that he was given status as 'high-risk' and mandated to visit the school's 'psychiatrist' once a week. Other things in his childhood files included things such as his father's absence from the age of eleven, followed by placement in foster care at the age of twelve, a violent incident with a peer when he was sixteen resulting in his subsequent arrest by Muggle police and a year-long stay as an in-patient at a mental hospital for children and adolescents, as well as psychiatric evaluations at regular intervals during and thereafter.

_Chaotic home life,_ these files said_, frequent truant and runaway...reluctant to engage in displaying emotion...either refuses to or cannot assimilate into typical familial structure...unconscious self-damage in addition to little response to low levels of painful stimuli...nervous habits including constant picking and stripping of skin around fingertips, inducing minor bleeding... _

However, they had also noted, _extremely shy; courteous; apologetic; respectful yet distrustful of authority, particularly male...pedantic speech patterns...extremely high intelligence level...Preliminary diagnosis of Schizoid-Avoidant Personality Disorder..._ This mysterious affliction was later marked out and replaced with notes that seemed to say he also showed highly functioning autistic traits, but these were inconclusive, as well.

Then, when Goren was seventeen, one last evaluation due to an application for legal emancipation into his own independence in order to study abroad in honors classes at Oxford University. It appeared that regardless of his lack of regular attendance at school, Goren had done so well in tests as to be well ahead of his peers to begin with and that the only thing keeping him from achieving the marks he should have gotten was his own outright unwillingness to do the work, even in some of the classes that seemed to match his interests and highest aptitudes. He had been labeled a _highly intelligent underachiever _by his previous teachers and kept in honors classes only because it would have been, it seemed, even more pointless to demote him to standard curriculum. His teachers openly professed worry over the state of his clothing and dark circles under his eyes. Constant bruises and cuts accompanied by blood on said clothing, it seemed, finally moved his principal to report to the New York Children's Services in favor of his being moved into foster care. His mother, it seemed, had been institutionalized since then.

Professor McGonagall sighed inwardly, wondering what sort of student Goren was going to be at Hogwarts and whether these Muggle evaluations meant anything in the long run. He had, of course, done brilliantly in his first class with her two days before and the subsequent classes since then. Only Hermione Granger had shone magical aptitude to that height in recent years, as did Goren's nephew, Harry, as well as Draco Malfoy, if in other subjects. In the meantime, to her dismay, it certainly seemed that Goren might live up to his family's troublemaker status. Before Captain Deakins had been sent back to New York with his Portkey, he had been questioned about Robert Goren by herself, Dumbledore, and Professors Snape, Flitwick, and Sprout about Goren and Eames' behavior at work.

The captain hadn't in so many words divulged Goren's police record for having had several suspensions for various infractions while working on cases, but it seemed that he and Detective Eames were--as he'd said--one of his best teams, with the highest solve rate, hands down. Unfortunately, there had also been maltreatment of Goren at their workplace, the New York Police Department's Major Case Squad, and it was obvious to both herself and Professor Dumbledore how much Goren and Eames' coworkers disliked him and treated him like he was abnormal. It was also obvious, of course, how much Captain Deakins himself frowned upon his subordinates' behavior and how much he cared for both his detectives' well-being. This had taken place, of course, been before it was discovered that Goren was, indeed, related to Harry Potter due to one of his father's indiscretions during business trips when he was a small child. Secretly, she found it quite deplorable the way the two of them had been handled and treated for the majority of their lives. It was a comfort to know that both had intimate groups of friends to fall back on.

Professor McGonagall turned to face both detectives once they'd reached their destination. Goren made a face of disgust for an instant at finding Filch holding the keys to the trophy room, but hid it with expertise the next second. After settling on giving him a mildly reproving look, Professor McGonagall addressed them both.

"You will be serving out your detentions with Mr. Filch tonight, detectives. Kindly remember, Detective Goren, that you will not be allowed to use magic to polish these trophies and that any more misbehavior on either of your parts will result in more severe punishments. Good night to you both and know that I will be inspecting these trophies tomorrow to make certain that neither of you has attempted to do a slapdash job of it in order to get finished faster."

With that, Professor McGonagall walked away, leaving Bobby and Alex facing down Filch, who had a far-too-satisfied expression on his face.

_Asshole, _Alex thought, giving him the cold shoulder. Bobby, of course, had settled for ignoring Filch's presence altogether and took this, instead, as an opportunity to explore the achievements of Hogwarts' students past and present. Ron had happily told them of the time he and Harry had received Special Awards for Services to the School for their parts in vanquishing the Basilisk that Salazar Slytherin and Tom Riddle had used to try and rid the school of Muggleborns, who they considered unworthy of studying magic. Bobby wanted to examine both their plaques, as well as the one Tom Riddle mistakenly received for the same reason fifty years previous.

"Alright, the both of you, get to it," Filch said going to herd both Bobby and Alex into the room. Before he could touch either of them, though, they each pulled their guns and pointed them at him.

"Don't _touch _me," Bobby said flatly, the earlier look of disgust back on his face. "Unless you want to spend the night at St. Mungo's having surgeons picking bullet fragments out of your solar plexus."

Fear flitted across Filch's face before the sneer fell back across it. "You'll both be expelled, you will...Arrested..."

"Big deal," Alex said dismissively. "It's self-defense; and, besides, I'm not even a student and Bobby got along just fine before now. He can learn all the magic he wants by himself, trust me. Now, remember, we have guns and they're pointed at your face. That's bad for you."

Filch hesitated for a moment before turning and shuffling away, muttering angrily under his breath.

Sighing audibly, Alex walked into the trophy room and, after taking the time to adjust to the sheer volume of trophies, she immediately found Bobby staring at a particular glass case. His eyes were bright and his face was mere centimeters from the glass.

"What are you looking at?" Alex asked, curiosity blooming instantly.

Bobby said nothing, simply moving more to his left, creating room for Alex to come stand next to him. Before her was a wooden plaque with three gold shield-shaped emblems with boys' names on them. The largest, in the center, had the name **_James Potter _**as well as the position of **_Chaser _**inscribed under it.

"My brother," Bobby whispered, wondering how James must have looked. "Was Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team from his sixth to seventh years. He was also Head Boy in his seventh. Lily was Head Girl. H-her nameplate for that is next to his over here on this wall, here--"

And Bobby took gentle hold of Alex's arm and led her over to an enormous display of small nameplates that seemed to list every Head Boy and Girl since Hogwarts' inception. James and Lily were under the year 1979.

"That's the year you _should _have graduated from high school, too."

"Which means that since James was seventeen, he was a year younger than I was...wh-which means he was conceived when I was around th-three months old," Bobby said quietly, the fingers of his left hand tracing the grooves of the wall before them. He sighed and turned away from the sea of nameplates. "We better get started; we're likely to be here all night as it is."

And, reluctantly, they began to work--for Filch had so very kindly left a pile of rags and several large containers of polish.

Bobby found Harry and Ron's awards on the same shelf as Tom Riddle's, albeit to the very front. Alex found a Head Boy nameplate for Ron's older brother, Percy, who elicited anything from growls and filthy looks to hisses whenever his name was mentioned. She wondered what the hell it was he did that was so bad, but she figured if the kids wanted herself and Bobby to know, they would've told them.

It was well past midnight when Alex dragged herself through the archway to their apartment, followed by Bobby, who was more alert, but none the happier. His mood had been getting steadily darker ever since he'd seen James' awards and nameplate. One might think it was anger at their father for his callous treatment of his mother, but Alex knew it was probably because he felt robbed of the chance to know a younger brother, particularly one who might think of him as something other than the oversensitive, know-it-all creep and nerd most people--including and most especially his own father and, formerly, his older brother--took him to be.

She sighed with resignation as she watched Bobby walk quietly into his bedroom and closed the door. He wouldn't be going to sleep, she knew, but as much as it bothered her she couldn't blame him. Making herself her customary cup of tea, she went into her own bedroom to attempt to read a little before exhaustion caused her to black out completely.

Bobby closed the door behind himself, unwanted memories of his childhood crawling through his thoughts like an infestation of ants. What he wouldn't give for a kind of mental Raid! to use against them. Walking skillfully over to his beside table, he switched on his lamp and looked at his bed to find a wrapped package waiting for him. Picking it up, he read the tag where, in thick black ink, it was written:

**To Uncle Bobby, **

_**Hagrid wrote to all my mum and dad's friends when I started Hogwarts to get these. I asked him for any he might've had left. He said he'd do us both one better and make you your own album. From Hagrid and I, enjoy…**_

**Love Harry**

Intrigued, Bobby tore open the package to find a photo album, filled with animated pictures. Most of them were of James but they, more often than not, included Lily, as well as Sirius and their friend, Remus Lupin. James' last friend, Peter Pettigrew, was absent from the album, but that didn't bother Bobby at all. He wanted nothing to do with the man who had led to James and Lily's deaths at the hands of Lord Voldemort. Smiling to himself, his mood now considerably lifted, Bobby flipped through the book. Page after page of his little brother at various stages of his life, some from his boyhood in England.

"Idiot," he found himself mumbling as he watched his brother's photographic self being slapped across the face by Lily.

There was a knock at the door. Bobby looked up to see Harry inching the door open, apprehension on his face. He grinned brightly. "Come in, Harry."

Harry grinned back, walked in, and shut the door. "Ron, Hermione, and the others are in my room. Draco's stuff is still there."

"In case he changes his mind," Bobby said softly. "I guess it helps that we do know how he feels."

"Yeah...so, do you like the pictures?"

"Of course I do," Bobby grinned again, flipping through several more pages. "Apparently your mother had quite the sucker punch." He winced comically. "James was an idiot. Never insult a woman. It may be the last thing you ever do."

Harry laughed. "Probably. Hermione slapped Draco across the face once because he was laughing about Hagrid and Buckbeak. She had wanted to curse him, but Ron and I talked her out of it."

"Good call. You should be in bed."

Harry stared in disbelief. "You're the one with school tomorrow. I'm practically still on summer holiday except for two classes."

"So you decided to give the History of Magic O.W.L. another go?"

"Yeah. Hermione would've throttled me, otherwise. That or stop speaking to me."

"Have you received your O.W.L. results yet?"

At this, Harry's face brightened drastically. "Oh yeah! I can't believe I forgot! Hermione nearly had kittens when I told her what McGonagall said about them coming today. I told her she was going to give herself a stroke, or an aneurysm. Something like that. She tried to curse me, but Ron--who was standing between us--and I ducked. She broke a bust of Anolius the Antiquated, but repaired it before Filch could come and kill us."

"Never mind you small fries, he was busy gleefully burning Alex and I at the stake instead. I swear, I'm never getting another detention here if I can help it. My hands smell like polish. In fact, I need a scouring brush or something to get the crap out of my cuticles."

Harry laughed, getting up. "I'll be right back."

"You know, if you'd done a bad job of it, you'd be trying to keep me from bringing up the subject of O.W.L.s at all."

"Well, I haven't, so I don't care, do I?"

Bobby smiled and waited patiently for Harry to come back. Once Harry had, he got a look at his nephew's scores:

**ORDINARY WIZARDING LEVEL RESULTS**

_**Pass Grades Fail Grades**_

**Outstanding (O)Poor (P)  
Exceeds Expectations (E) Dreadful (D)  
Acceptable (A) Troll (T)**

_**Harry James Potter has achieved:**_

Astronomy **A  
**Care of Magical Creatures** E  
**Charms **E  
**Defense Against the Dark Arts** O  
**Divination** P  
**Herbology **E  
**History of Magic** D  
**Potions** O  
**Transfiguration **E**

"_Troll?_" Bobby asked, half laughing. "That's...a hell of a lot cooler than the SAT grading scale."

"What's that?" Harry asked, curious.

"The Scholastic Aptitude Test _or_ how it's been referred to by many an American high school student: the Suck Ass Test. It's evil. The ACT--American College Test--is probably just as bad. I wouldn't know. I didn't take that one. I took the SATs when I was ten years old. The average student takes it at the age of seventeen or eighteen when they're either a junior--in eleventh grade--or senior--in twelfth grade--in high school. There's also the PSAT--_Practice _Suck Ass Test...you know, so you can have plenty of time to prepare for the advent of your failure. That's taken at the age of sixteen or so, in tenth grade. It's a kind of training. Whatever, I was done with all that by then, thank God."

Harry grinned, smothering his chuckles. "Why did you take the SATs when you were ten? You were only in--what class were you in?"

"I wasn't in any specific grade, I don't think," Bobby shrugged. "I went too fast for that. I was in special classes, working on an accelerated program. All because of these tests my first grade teacher insisted be administered. And, of course, they called my kindergarten teacher, asked her did I exhibit any _special qualities. _I told her the time once, on a wall clock. I was four. There was other stuff, but I can't care enough to remember. From what I've been told, I never actually needed to go to high school. As it was, I graduated two years ahead of when I should have."

Harry felt his eyebrows lift of their own volition. "Wow. So you must be brilliant, then. The staff is going to love you--except Snape, that is."

"Screw him," Bobby murmured, and Harry held back another laugh. "And take my academic performance with a grain of salt. Those files Dumbledore and the others received probably also included my _lack of _attendance and behavior records, and maybe even my juvenile file, though that's legally sealed in the Muggle world."

"You have a juvenile record?" Harry asked, shocked. "But--you're a cop!"

"Your point being? Cops aren't angels, you know. We're human like everyone else. And, anyway, it was one arrest when I was sixteen for aggravated battery and assault. I got into a fight with one of my peers--I-I don't like being touched, when I'm upset. I was bullied as a kid and, one day, I just got sick of it all. But, I-I didn't mean to hit him, exactly. I just wanted him to leave me alone. But when I started, I just couldn't stop. I look back on it and the thing I remember clearest is that it felt like I was out of my body, watching myself beating on him. Either way, he landed in the hospital with heavy bruising, a black eye, a chipped tooth, and a concussion and I was arrested. My friend Matthew's father bailed me out and I was ordered to undergo counseling--"

Here, Bobby paused and snorted, folding his legs. "Like I hadn't been in _counseling _for the previous five years. I remember I had to go somewhere for a while, because even though my brother was twenty-one, he couldn't take me in because he was only a college student and didn't have the time or money to take care of me. Anyway, they sent me somewhere. Not a group home, somewhere else. Like a mental hospital, only it was for kids. I remember I wouldn't sign their consent forms or their 'I-Promise-Not-To-Suicide-Myself' pledge sheet. They couldn't do anything with me because of that, but I didn't care. I was there for a year and a half. They told me I'd been very, very sick when I came in. Not schizophrenic like--like I've always feared. A different kind of sick, like deeply traumatized. I'd been kept in isolation on the hospital ward for awhile, on strong meds until it was decided that I could tolerate being in a more populated area of the hospital and could they could glean an appreciated response from my being in therapy. Being alone with my mother for five years had done a lot of damage, apparently. I heard them talking about all sorts of personality or behavior problems they thought I might have. It was the night nurses. They leave the lights on at night and--as you may have noticed--I-I can't sleep with any sort of light in my room. It's hard. So I would be awake at night--I'm a night person, anyway, and it's impossible to sleep when you hear people screaming because of their night terrors and the things that happened to them that make you feel like you're lucky the worst thing that happened you is some quasi-unintentional neglect. And you feel stupid or bad or something because _you _have night terrors for what fells to you like no real reason. Anyway, the--the nurses were talking about me one night after they'd given out the meds--they make you take meds even if you haven't been diagnosed with anything yet. I guess it's a precautionary measure, keeping us all half-baked on sedatives. Not that it always worked."

Bobby paused and looked at Harry, who was staring at him in awe, his arms wrapped around his pajama-pant covered legs. He was gnawing at his bottom lip, his head tilted slightly to the right. Looking back down at the album in his hands, Bobby continued.

"I remember one of them wondering if I could even talk, I was always so quiet. If they ever diagnosed me with anything, they never told me. My brother, Anthony, h-he came to visit me sometimes. He came to visit for my seventeenth birthday and brought me a Grateful Dead album, freshly pressed, he said--though that couldn't have been true--and autographed that he'd bought at one of their shows. I-I still have it. It was signed to me from Jerry Garcia and the rest of the band. He also brought me a green and blue Grateful Dead Dancing Bear--th-they were my favorite band. I usually listen to classical music, now, but I'm still a Deadhead. I still have that bear, as well. My last court-ordered psych exam was when I was seventeen so that I could be legally emancipated--I was a ward of the state and underage--and go to Oxford. The only thing I cared about hearing was whether I was too crazy to go away to school. They told me I wasn't and I left. I didn't come back for four years. After that, I went to graduate school at Yale and then joined the army and got shipped off to Germany and, then, South Korea. When I came back, I went into Narcotics and stayed there for seven years, partnered with Fin, who Matthew and I'd grown up with. I hadn't seen him since then, but he and I were still friends. I'd written them both while I was...institutionalized. And after I went away. I met Mulder at Oxford. He and I were roommates. Someone decided to stick us together, presumably because we were the only two Americans in our class. I don't know. Anyway, he and I have been friends since then and when we came home for summer holiday, I introduced him to the others. When Fin joined SVU after we both left Narc, he introduced us to John Munch. And when Mulder met Scully, he introduced her to us. That was in 1993, after he'd been working on the X-Files for a few months. We've all been friends ever since. Like I said, you'll meet them all eventually. As it is, I didn't meet Alex until the year 2000. I'd gone through eight partners and she was my last chance before being transferred out of Major Case. Luckily, she decided I wasn't too dangerous. She didn't give up on me. We've been partners ever since. She offered to go to Mulder's funeral with me, but I-I couldn't let her. She didn't even know him before she found out he'd died."

Harry sat up sharply, now confused. "Wait, your friend's dead? I thought you said--"

"He's not dead anymore. It's a long, complicated story but he's not dead anymore. Anyway, it'd be better for him to explain that to you if he ever wants to. It's not my place."

Resignedly, Harry nodded, though his mind was now burning with questions.

Bobby looked at the time on his alarm clock. _3:02 am. Alex would kill me if she knew I was up this late. She'd _doubly _kill me if she knew I had Harry up this late, too._

Stretching slightly, Bobby stood and began walking to his bedroom door, indicating that Harry should come, as well.

"I'm not tired," Harry protested, scratching his left elbow. And it was true; his uncle had given him loads of things to think about. "Hey, Uncle Bobby, um--what are your other favorite bands?"

"Why?" Bobby smiled, and Harry smiled back.

"Just wondering."

"_Why?_"

"Can't I be curious, too?"

"No. Now go to sleep."

Harry scoffed, grinned, and closed the door. Bobby sighed heavily, closed his new photo album, then lay down on his bed. He usually tried not to think about his childhood, or talk about it because once he started, it seemed he couldn't stop. The thoughts and words would come like a torrent and he wasn't able to act as though it had been some sort of bad dream he'd finally managed to wake up from. He couldn't ignore it anymore, as much as he wanted to. The nightmares were bad enough as it was.

* * *

It wakes me up and shakes my bones  
It makes me miss my friends  
You wasted days, I hung my head  
I wore these blinders  
So I'll hide from you

* * *

Carmel Ridge Sanitarium  
Upstate New York  
26 June 2004  
4:00pm EST 

Bobby walked cautiously up to the reception counter, Alex and Harry behind him. It was ten pm in Scotland, four pm here, and he'd tried to coincide his visit for a day not only when his mother was more lucid than not, but when Anthony could come up, as well. He'd received a reply letter from his brother, tied to the leg of his owl, whom he still hadn't decided on a name for. Anthony had been at first disbelieving and astonished then, resignedly accepting of Bobby's revelation that he was a wizard and that they had a nephew in England, who was also a wizard, as well as extremely famous. It had helped that Bobby had sent animated photographic proof, using a clipping of Harry from the front page of the _Daily Prophet_. He'd asked if Bobby would bring Harry to his house after the visit so that Harry could meet the other members of their family and, possibly, stay for the weekend. After alerting Dumbledore of their plans, he'd Side-Along Apparated with Alex and Harry to a safe, secluded distance from the hospital before walking the rest of the way.

Cautiously, Uncle Bobby looked back at Harry, who was removing his headphones and turning off his new CD player. His uncle had instructed him to try to be as calm and non-threatening as he could when walking throughout a mental hospital because it could keep him from getting hurt by one of the patients. He followed his uncle up to the counter and looked around nervously as his uncle talked to the nurse on duty about their visit and his inquiring after his mother's health. When he mentioned Harry's name, Harry turned sharply around and nodded at her, a bit startled.

They all were both given visitor's badges and Harry and Alex followed Uncle Bobby down the hallway, through several doors, and down another hallway until they came to a library. Bobby came to a stop and turned around, seemingly waiting for someone. Sure enough, a doctor in a white lab coat came around the corner and made a face of recognition when he saw Bobby.

"Ah, Robert, hello. Good to see you again."

"Good to see you, too, Dr. Ablam," Bobby said, smiling slightly. Alex and Harry glanced at one another, clearly seeing how tense Bobby had become upon setting foot in this place. They also saw his resignation. "I hope Mom's been well?" He nodded toward the double doors of the library.

"She has, Robert," Dr. Ablam assured him and Bobby visibly relaxed. "Your brother called me earlier to tell you that he'd be here by two o'clock, so you, Harry, and Alex are all right on time."

"Th-that's good, doctor," Bobby said, smiling again, this time more genuinely.

It was at that moment that a tall man who greatly resembled Bobby came around the corner, clipping a visitor's badge to his shirt pocket. Looking up, he said, as quietly as he could, "Bobby, you've made it."

"You act as though you've been here waiting on me," Bobby murmured, frowning slightly.

In a louder tone, he said, "Hi, Nick."

"Hi, little brother," the older man said, smiling, obviously ignoring Bobby's subsequent scowl. "Hi, Alex, it's nice to see you again."

"Hello, Anthony," Alex said coolly, frowning slightly at him. Anthony looked from her to Bobby and deflated slightly.

"So nice to know both of you still don't like me."

"I never said I didn't like you, Nick," Bobby said quietly. "And neither did Alex." Harry glanced at him, obviously wondering where the nickname came from.

"His middle name is Nicholas," Bobby answered, gesturing toward his brother. "Nick, this is Harry. Our nephew."

At this, Anthony sighed and gave Harry a fleeting once-over, which he was used to. He almost expected Anthony to get all excited once he noticed his scar.

"Hi, Uncle Nick," he said, shaking his other uncle's hand. "It's nice to meet you."

"Same here, Harry. Nice scar, by the way. Very interesting."

Harry gave him a half-hearted grin, unconsciously flattening his fringe over the scar.

"Well," Dr. Ablam said, plainly desperate to fill the uncomfortable silence left after Harry shook hands with Anthony. "You all are here to visit Frances, so I suppose we should..."

Harry had a feeling the doctor wanted to say '_get this over with_' but thought that might be an exaggeration. Regardless of his feelings, however, he followed Uncle Bobby through the doors with the others into the small library behind them. He thought it could fit quite comfortably several times over in the Hogwarts library. Uncle Bobby had told Harry that his mother had been a librarian before she got sick, so he wasn't entirely surprised to see her behind the counter.

"Mom," Bobby said hesitantly, displaying his palms and keeping them in view of the gray-haired woman behind the counter. "Anthony, Alex, and I came to visit and we brought someone to meet you. Is that okay?"

"Robert," the woman looked up, a soft smile instantly coming to her face. "I missed you."

"I missed you, too. A-and Nick's here, too, Mom," Bobby said, nodding toward his older brother, who was mirroring his movements, though with less certainty. Harry had a feeling he didn't come to visit very often.

"Anthony," Frances said with a small amount of poise in her voice. Uncle Bobby was her favorite, it seemed.

"Hi, Mom," Uncle Nick said, faltering slightly in his advance toward the countertop. Bobby had already reached the counter and was examining the books his mother was cataloguing. Bird books, today, he noted, glancing back to see his brother and the others.

"That's Harry, Mom," Bobby said, pointing to him. Harry felt his heart flutter slightly, in surprise, but got over it quickly enough. Frances was smiling at him. "And Alex. You've met her."

"Hello, Mrs. Goren," Alex said, smiling and feeling gratified when Frances smiled back. When she'd first met her partner's mother, she'd been having one of her worse days. Bobby had been silent on the way back, his fingers drumming compulsively on the passenger side door. His irregular breathing had eventually given way to fitful and restless sleep. If he'd been his usual self, Bobby would have questioned her about why they were taking a particularly long way back. As it was, he'd been too preoccupied to notice.

"Alexandra," Frances said to her, picking up a book. "I saved this one just for you. You told me how much you liked her--"

And, sure enough, it was a chapter novel about Wonder Woman featuring the Justice League of America. Chuckling, Alex took the book and sat down to read it while Bobby finished introducing Harry to his mother.

"Harry's a good friend of mine, Mom," Bobby said, smiling at his nephew. "He'll be staying with me for a while."

"I'm so glad to hear you're making new friends, Robert," Frances said, coming up to cup Harry's hand in hers. "You listen to Robert, Harry, he knows all sorts of wonderful things."

Bobby blushed, looking away. Alex snickered quietly from her corner. He threw her a dirty look and she then cackled quietly in response.

"Yes, ma'am," Harry said dutifully, smiling back. "I will."

"And you, Anthony," she said, her tone decidedly sharper. "It'd do you well to start behaving, young man, or you'll never get anywhere in life."

"Yes, Mom," Uncle Nick said, his eyes downcast. "I will."

"Don't just tell me you will. Do it."

This time, Uncle Nick stayed silent, though when Frances turned to go back to the counter, he shot a look at Uncle Bobby that Harry couldn't interpret.

Frances walked up to Bobby and he bent obediently as she peered into his eyes. "You're not sleeping, dear," she said worriedly and immediately, he felt Alex's eyes burning holes in the back of his head. "Your eyes are terrible. I'm surprised you can stand up straight. You go now, directly off to bed. And Robert, I don't want to hear anything about you're not tired."

"Yes, Mom," Bobby said resignedly. "I promise I'll have a nap."

"That's my boy," Frances smiled, reaching up to kiss Bobby on the cheek. Without looking at Anthony, she told him. "You make sure your brother gets to sleep, Anthony. Do you hear me?"

"I hear you, Mom," Uncle Nick answered, visibly sighing, his shoulders rising and falling. "I'll put Ickle Bobbykins to--"

"Don't you dare tease your brother," Frances cut him off sharply, frowning. "You're supposed to protect him, not make him feel bad."

Uncle Nick scowled, though it vanished the second his mother turned to face him. Then, to his surprise, she walked over to him and kissed him on the cheek, as well. "You be good," she said softly.

"I will, Mom," he promised.

* * *

Falling, falling  
This life is in splinters  
And hands over eyes protect innocent blinding  
Falling, falling  
Balance is broken, a lifetime of choking  
Leaves you blue

* * *

Goren Residence  
White Plains, NY  
6:41 pm EST 

Anthony opened the door of his house, immediately going to try clearing a walkway through the toys strewn all around the living room. He and Sara had cleaned Aaron up and put his playthings away earlier that day in preparation for Bobby and the others' arrival, but to no avail. Sighing in acquiescence, Anthony merely began to step over the toys, telling the others to do the same.

"Don't worry, I have lots of practice," Alex smirked, beginning to step over discarded playthings with practiced ease. Looking back, she snickered when Bobby nearly tripped over a fire truck. "Looks like your little brother doesn't, though."

"Laugh it up, Eames," he said warningly. Alex just grinned back, unfazed by his vague threat. Harry navigated the room slowly, going to follow Nick upstairs to where he said they'd all be staying. He back looked over his shoulder when he heard a little boy yell, "Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!" A burred form came running pell-mell out of the kitchen and jumped into his father's arms, chocolate smeared all over his face.

"Hey, big guy," Nick growled, tickling Aaron and drowning out the boy's shrill giggles with deep laughs of his own. "Guess who's come to visit?"

"Uncle Bobby!" Aaron cheered, reaching over and letting Uncle Bobby take him out of his father's arms. Coming back down the stairs, Harry came to stand next to Alex, who was struggling to hold back snickers as Aaron stuck his chocolate covered hands right in Bobby's hair.

"You're getting me all sticky, kid," Bobby said, laughing. "Now I need a shower."

"Don't forget about that nap, too," Alex reminded him and Bobby sighed.

"Yeah. A shower and a nap."

His stomach growled audibly, then, and Aaron giggled.

"A shower, _lunch_, and then a nap," Bobby amended, beginning to climb the stairs.

When Bobby came back downstairs twenty minutes later, his hair damp and clothes changed, he found their luggage had been taken upstairs and that now Harry sitting in the kitchen with Alex and the rest of his family, telling them about the Dursleys and their lies, how he'd been tricked into thinking he wasn't a wizard, and several adventures he'd had since coming to Hogwarts. Everyone was getting lunch together, Aaron helping his mother finish a salad by tossing cherry tomatoes into the bowl with the lettuce and carrots.

"Hi, Uncle Bobby," Harry said as Bobby came to stand next to him at the counter. Raw fish filets were sitting in front of him. Bobby smiled back, pulling them toward himself and sprinkling them with pepper and sea salt before cutting a lemon and spraying them with juice.

"You can cook?" Harry asked, surprised, watching him load them into the preheated oven.

Alex cackled happily again from her place on the living room floor, playing with Aaron to distract him from the now made salad.

"You have not _lived_, Harry, until you've had one of Bobby's steaks."

Bobby shrugged. "I like to cook."

"Dad didn't like _that_," Anthony said darkly, turning over his own steaks. "If it wasn't made on a grill, we weren't supposed to cook it."

"I notice you ignored that particular rule yourself," Bobby replied, raising an eyebrow at his older brother.

"Yeah, well, I didn't like the way he treated you. Like you weren't sh--" He glanced at Harry, who rolled his eyes. "Like you weren't good enough. I think he would have been happiest if you'd been an idiot...ah, well, the bastard couldn't have everything in life."

"Can we stick to _happy _topics, please?" Sara Goren, a light brown-haired woman with sky blue eyes, asked pointedly, frowning at both her husband and brother-in-law. "I'd like to give Harry good reasons to _want _to be a part of this family, not to hate his grandfather."

"Yes, I suppose..." Anthony trailed off, shrugging. Then he seemed to think of something. "Do you practice, Harry?"

Harry sat up straight. "Practice Judaism? Er--no. I had no idea I was part-Jewish."

"Of course he doesn't, Nick," Bobby said, rolling his eyes. "And the Dursleys weren't Catholic, either, from what Harry said he could tell."

"Protestant?" Nick said, venturing along another road.

"No," Harry shook his head. "I have no idea. The one time I asked, I was told, 'Don't ask questions, now go rake the leaves.'"

Nick snorted. "Well, don't _they _sound like a happy bunch?"

"Alex and I have met them," Bobby frowned. "No, they're not. Dudley has improved a great deal, though, since his Mark was removed. He no longer displays psychopathic personality traits. It was all his parents' doing. Especially Vernon Dursley...they _encouraged _their son to beat the crap out of the little neighbor children. Anyway, Dudley's not like that anymore, since almost dying. Not that his parents have changed. They still blame Harry for every bad thing that's happened to them, whether this is a logical action or not."

He scowled deeply then, beginning to stab at the Stove Top he was making with the spoon.

"On the bright side," Harry said, trying to make his family feel better. "Not only has Dudley realized he has a brain, but he gets that it doesn't need an instruction manual to operate properly."

Bobby's frown lessened only fractionally. He sighed, "Look, Harry, don't take my bad mood to mean I'm going to go vigilante on your other uncle...no matter how many ways I can instantly think of doing just that..."

"Ooh," Alex said, raising an eyebrow in his direction. "Naughty. You might want to consider keeping those cheerful thoughts between us. I don't have the patience to deal with IAB, at any time."

"Someone's vindictive," Sara said, flipping the steaks while Nick washed his hands. "And while this is not necessarily new, it still unnerves me...do I even want to know? Will this result in us storming a London jail cell?"

"It depends on your capacity for self-control."

"Oy vey," Sara said quietly. "You keep a lid on that, mister."

"Sir, yes ma'am," Bobby said quietly, giving her a mock salute. Sara rolled her eyes and went to get the plates and silverware.

"But Dudley's changed," Nick ventured, looking to Harry, who nodded.

"Yeah. He's even in Ravenclaw House, that's the one with most of the smart people in it. I thought Uncle Bobby would've been Sorted into that one for sure, but Alex says he's too much trouble."

Alex grinned, Nick snorted, and Bobby rolled his eyes. "Like you can talk. You've been expelled, which has never happened to me."

"You didn't attend school often enough to _get _expelled," Nick cut in, earning a glare from Bobby.

"For ten minutes and Dumbledore wasn't the one who expelled me. Fudge did, then Dumbledore reminded him that the Minister of Magic couldn't expel students. Then I had my hearing--"

"You call that kangaroo court a hearing?" Alex cut in, incredulous.

Harry laughed. "They did. But most of the people on the Wizengamot--"

"That's the wizard High Court," Bobby elaborated and Harry nodded again. "Like the Supreme Court."

"Yeah, they mostly seemed to think the Minister had done his nut--er, had gone mad and that it was a waste of everyone's time. A couple of them were impressed that I can do a Patronus Charm in the first place. Fudge tried to turn that to his advantage, of course, but Dumbledore arrived and saved me from expulsion from the wizarding world."

"Wow," Sara said, brining the stacks of plates and flatware to the table and setting the places. "And you're a wizard, Bobby?"

Bobby smiled slightly. "Yes. I had no idea. I should have received a letter from an American school when I was eleven, but I was too advanced by then, I guess. Anyway, I only found out because I accidentally Apparated from my apartment to the Three Broomsticks, which is an inn in the village near the school, when I was asleep last Friday night. Everyone I talked to said 'Go see Albus Dumbledore,' so I went up to the front door and knocked--"

"Which is when a truly repulsive old man answered, right Uncle Bobby?" Harry said, grinning wickedly.

Bobby shuddered. "Argus Filch is best viewed at a distance, it's true, but I won't be so callous as to say he's repulsive for _that _reason. It's more his disgusting personality than anything else. That and he has a evil cat named Mrs. Norris. I'm allergic to cats, sure, but she was foul to begin with."

"She cornered Bobby and I in the library a few days ago," Alex frowned. "Filch set her on us. Does the same thing to Professor Hagrid and anyone else he doesn't like. Which is to say everyone. Bobby says he's resentful because he can't do magic even though he's from a wizarding family. A squib, which is the opposite of a muggleborn like him."

"Muggleborn?" Nick asked, frowning at his younger brother. "What the hell is that?"

"Someone who comes from a family of all nonmagic people," Bobby clarified. "Half-bloods like Harry and James are people whose parents or grandparents on one side are Muggles. Purebloods like Draco don't have any muggles at all in their families."

"Or so they say," Harry said darkly. "Voldemort's always going on about how the only wizards worth going around with are purebloods, but his dad was a muggle. Hermione says that some of the Death Eaters _have _to be half-bloods because there aren't enough pureblood families left. Mr. Weasley, my friend Ron's dad told me wizards would have died out if they hadn't started marrying muggles."

"Right, which makes them all hypocritical as hell," Bobby agreed, frowning. "But there's also the fact that Voldemort's father abandoned him and his mother before he was even born. That sort of emotional trauma leaves very deep scars."

Then he added, "It doesn't give him the excuse to become a mass murderer, but at least we can partially see how he got that way in the first place. There are probably a lot of other factors that go into it, but we don't know them so we can't say."

"You sound awfully objective about this," Alex said, looking pointedly at him. Bobby smiled regretfully back.

"Oh, no, don't get me wrong. He killed members of my family; not to mention hundreds of other innocent people. I'm willing to bet that in the wizarding dictionary, his face is next to the description for _evil._"

"There's a wizarding dictionary?" Harry asked, now grinning.

"Yeah, I found it in the library, along with a thesaurus and desk reference. Not to mention a copy of The Wizard's Almanac. There's also archives of old _Daily Prophets_ like at any public library. They aren't on microfilm like with muggle libraries, though. Plus, in the Restricted section, there's stuff on all sorts of horrible potions and spells."

Bobby grinned with excitement, getting up to take the fish out of the oven and set them on the stove to cool. "I can't wait to read those."

"I'll bet," Alex snorted, standing and taking Aaron's hand to bring him to the table to sit down.

"So you can both do magic?" Sara asked, approaching the topic as though she heard this sort of thing every day.

Bobby and Harry both nodded, looking sheepishly down at their plates.

"With wands," Bobby murmured, turning a pale shade of pink. "But--er, I was in the library a couple of days ago--"

"Big surprise," Nick grinned, and Bobby rolled his eyes.

"Shut up, Nick. I was in the library a couple of days ago--an-and I was reading about these...these wizards who can do spells without wands. Apparently, they're extremely powerful, an-and rare. Their powers themselves don't show up for quite some time--"

"And we're going to find out you're one," Alex said, nodding as though she were speaking a professed truth.

Bobby frowned. "I didn't say that--I-I never would be able to say that."

"I know. But that's probably what's going to end up happening. And someone's going to try and kill us all because of it."

"The only one here who someone's been trying to kill is me," Harry said darkly. "All the people you and Uncle Bobby put away are still in jail, most likely never to get out. So you're both safe--"

"Bobby's your uncle and a wizard," Alex disagreed, chewing on her breadstick. "That alone seals his fate."

"I thought we were going to have a _cheerful _lunch," Sara scolded, putting her fork down and glaring at everyone in turn.

"But we're not talking about how terrible our family relations are," Nick said, cheerfully. "We're talking about how someone's going to kill half of us."

"Right," Alex agreed in a similarly sunny tone of voice with a matching bright smile. "And that's normal job-related stuff. You know how many convicts in Rikers would like to see Bobby on a cold slab in the morgue? Not to mention me, just because I was there when he went at them."

"I did not _go at them_--"

"Oh, yes, you did. I remember one of them, that kid, slapped you. I wasn't there to see it for myself, but I could hear the resounding _thwack _of his hand against your face as I walked down the hall toward the interrogation room. Then, three uniforms dragged him out and he was screaming for them to get off of him...ah, good times. Good times..."

Bobby sighed as three pairs of eyes landed on him.

"He _slapped _you?" Harry asked, shocked.

"Connie..." Bobby said with an ironic smile and Alex chuckled. "He didn't like having his interpretation of reality shattered."

"You mean the one where he has a flock of female followers to do his killing for him?" Alex said, finishing her fish. "I guess not."

"Everyone kept abandoning him," Bobby said, frowning. "He was trying to keep that from happening yet again."

"I've told you about empathizing with the perps, Bobby," Alex reprimanded softly. "Bad."

"I'm not empathizing," Bobby said quietly, wishing everyone would stop staring at him. "I'm not alone."

"You're damned right you're not," Nick growled, pointing to Bobby with his fork. "And you better not forget us little people when you're police commissioner."

"I'm _who_?" Bobby turning to stare at his brother, his eyebrow raised. "Have you been drinking?"

"No, I haven't. And you will be. Just watch."

"Uh, no." Bobby disagreed, standing up and taking his cleared plate and empty glass to the sink. "I don't know what you think I've been doing for the last twelve years, Nick, but creating a fan base is not one of them."

"Oh come on, Bobby, you'll see. Now go have your nap."

As Bobby's form disappeared around the corner, he managed to spare time to flip his brother off before going upstairs.

"I'm telling Mom you're going around flipping people off. See, you're her little darling boy now, but that'll all change once she sees how awful you really are."

"Shut up, Nick." Bobby's voice echoed from upstairs.

* * *

He likes to pretend that he's all sewn up  
It makes for a much stronger case  
But there is blood underneath that skin  
That scar is not so easy to erase  
He walks with a glass cane now  
He's careful when holding his body up straight  
Can't go outside anymore when it's raining  
Can't smash up that beautiful face  
Another innocent girl just made his list  
That self pity shit it's just too hard too resist

* * *

Voldemort's Lair  
12:41 am  
27 June 2004 

Lucius prostrated himself before the throne of his master, eager to share with him the news he'd been waiting to hear for many years.

"Master, our plan is finally in motion. Potter and Goren are finally both at the school."

"Potter is not there, and neither is Goren. They have left."

Lucius tried to hide his astonishment and anger at this revelation.

"It does not matter, Master, wherever they have gone, they will return soon. And Draco, as well. He tries to hide from you. He will not succeed."

"Indeed he will not. I can still feel Potter, though the pull isn't quite as strong as usual. They have gone quite far away. But to have left his mother so unprotected all this time...he must not doubt her safety in that Muggle asylum. We must rectify that situation."

"We will, Master," Lucius agreed, pulling out his mask and putting it on. His entire face was disguised, with the exception of his hairline and the long white blonde mane flowing behind it. "Goren will never expect it, of that I am certain..."

With that, he Disapparated.

Six-thousand miles away, a man entered Frances Goren's room at Carmel Ridge. Not long after, he disappeared silently as she collapsed into a fit, screaming and thrashing.

* * *

Genie let out the bottle  
It is now the witching hour  
Murderers you're murderers  
We are not the same as you  
Funny haha funny how  
When the walls bend  
With your breathing  
They will suck you down to the other side  
To the shadows blue and red  
Your alarm bells  
Should be ringing  
This is the gloaming

* * *

...tbc... 

**A/N:** Blame Lina-Baggins and Rene Balcer for whatever happens to Bobby's mother. It's all their faults. Anyway, I feel a bit bad for bringing her into the mix because, as Bobby said, she's an innocent old woman. I sigh and continue typing.

Also, I tried formatting Harry's grades the way they're supposed to be but ffnet is being pissy. I got frustrated and gave up. If you haven'tread HbP, then you shouldn't be reading this fic in the first place. If you have, then you know how Harry's grades are supposed to look. Grr.


	12. Sad and Elegant, Loud and Out of Key

**Ominous  
**_By Angelfirenze_

**Disclaimer, etc.:** Duh. Lyrics and quotes from various sources. Also, some of the research for this chapter was done at the HP Lexicon, which is an amazingly detailed site with intricate examinations of all the books and the information we get from them. Witness my geeker joy.

**Summary: **Whatever happens, happens. But, I have to say now that there will be _**SPOILERS** _of varying degrees from both Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince as well as tidbits, etc. from the others. If you still haven't read HbP and plan to at some point, keep FAR, FAR AWAY. Wait to read the rest of this story after that, please. There. If you ignore that glaring warning, in the words of Mrs. Weasley, on your own head be it.

**Notes: **Blame Lina-Baggins and Rene Balcer, like I said. sighs and shrugs So I've been watching all my ANGEL DVDs for a few months now. I've made it through seasons one and two and am more than halfway through season three. I can't watch seasons four or five until I get them, but there's time for that later. At any rate, Tim Minear from ANGEL worked on the X-Files, as well, and I think Frank Spotnitz might also hold the same distinction, so all is lovely. Also, blucougar57, further to your cheat review, there will be Flying Lessons!Bobby in this chapter. All for you. (bright grin)

**Dedications:** To blucougar57 because she has promised to update 'Nightmares,' like I asked. Some sadistic part of me makes me hope she never lets him walk again. Which is probably evil, but there you are. squees To screenwriter, producer, and director Tim Minear for being my favorite evil mastermind at Mutant Enemy and one of the few who I felt didn't betray the fans just to further their own sick vision (e.g. Joss the Evil Whedon and Marti 'Noxious' Noxon). To Alexis Denisof for perfecting Wesley's droll wit and David Boreanaz for making Petty!Angel really, really funny and cute to watch. ("I'm smarter than him, and stronger, and I pick out my own clothes!") To VDO and KE for their stellar performances on L&O:CI during 'In the Wee Small Hours.' To JS and CBV for keeping me watching the CN/AS episodes. To AS and CN for making Barek and gasp Logan more likable. It was astonishing, really. I actually think I might like Mikey now. Who'd would've thought something like that could happen?

**Inspiration: **'In the Wee Small Hours, parts I and II,' obviously. sniffles Any of the X-Files episodes where Mulder and/or Scully were in the hospital. _A Year Like None Other _by Aspen in the Sunlight. Incubus', **A Crow Left of the Murder** and **Make Yourself**. The now-defunct summer of 2004 television series, _The Days _(particularly the character Cooper Day), which I loved and dearly miss. I have all but the series finale on tape, but I want very much to see it released on DVD. The TNT series, _The Closer_, which is brilliant and I wish Season 2 would start already. ANGEL S3's episode, 'Forgiveness,' which has to be one of the biggest title-driven lies I've ever seen perpetrated on television. Still, it sort of fit. The _lack _of forgiveness, that is. Anyway.

Part XI: Sad and Elegant, Loud and Out of Key

* * *

In the circuit, the frequency's breaking up, the speakers can barely move this is not a test  
Tune to the broadcast, witness the jetlag, look in the mirror, adjust the V-hold shatter the lens  
Pull out the shards, choke on her words, caught in your throat  
How long can the wheels maintain a spin, at this velocity?  
On every block, a reminder; you can't stop this intersection  
At every turn, dead forests of tenements rise like antennas

* * *

Harry awoke, his shirt dampened with sweat, breathing hard as though he'd just run a marathon. The door to his guest room was closed, but he could hear Uncle Bobby's frantic voice yelling beyond it. Uncle Nick, as well. Alex and Aunt Sara were trying to calm them both down, but it didn't seem to be working. 

"No, damn it, listen to me!" Uncle Bobby sounded like he was yelling into the telephone. "You're telling me you don't know what happened to my mother, Frances Goren, after my brother and I left--no, stop that. Listen to me. Stop--stop trying to--"

Then, an abrupt clacking sound. Uncle Bobby had slammed the cordless telephone down on the table. He and Uncle Nick were both yelling now, in a language Harry couldn't speak. He guessed it was Italian, based on the sounds of the words. Pulling himself out of bed, Harry tested his weight on his shaky legs before continuing to the door and opening it.

He walked out into the upstairs hallway and leaned over the banister, watching the chaos downstairs in the living room. He flinched, suddenly, as a small weight gripped his legs. Looking down, he saw Aaron hugging his legs and pressing his face into Harry's jeans leg. Sighing inwardly, he bent down to pick his cousin up, signaling to the little boy that he should be quiet. Together, they watched the adults below them.

Uncle Nick slammed his fist down on the kitchen counter and Aaron jumped, whimpering sharply.

"Bobby," Alex said in that same calming tone and Harry couldn't understand how she didn't shiver under the glare he gave her then. _Then again_, he thought, _Alex is more used to Uncle Bobby than I am. _"What if it's a trap to get you, like I said?"

"Then they're using my mother to get to Harry and I--" Bobby ground out, picking up the telephone again and gripping it so hard Harry was afraid it would crack. "And-and I don't really know anything a-about my mother's childhood. She was never in any position to--to tell me. What--what if she's a witch? That would make me a half-blood. A-and these Death Eaters--wh-what if they were the ones who made her sick all this time? I-I mean, schizophrenia doesn't exist in the wizarding world. _What if --"_

"Bobby, damn it," Uncle Nick growled. "It doesn't matter, all that. What matters is that we have to get to Mom. And--and whatever's hurting her. We have to stop it."

"But--th-these Death Eaters, Nick, you can't hurt them. You're a Muggle. They'd kill you and roast your corpse over an open flame to feed to their evil pets. As for me, I haven't gotten enough training yet. I-I have to work harder. Much harder--God damn it."

Harry reached up to cover Aaron's ears and sighed quietly.

Taking a deep breath, he walked over to and down the stairs, into the living room. Both his uncles, his aunt, and Alex all turned to look at Harry, who placed Aaron on the ground and waited until he'd run over to his mother before he spoke.

"We could send her to St. Mungo's," he said quietly, waiting for Uncle Bobby or Uncle Nick to explode and vilify him for even suggesting it. "They--they have a section f-for people who've had things done to their minds by magic. Madness. They'd be able to tell what happened and, if they can, they'll treat her."

He looked at Uncle Bobby in particular. "You told me a few days ago that all the medications they've given your mum have never really worked. What if they--they _can't _work? What if they're useless? I remember talks I've had with Hermione about us going to the doctor when we were little. I-I don't like needles, either..."

Uncle Bobby became very still then, and Harry was unnerved, for he had never seen Uncle Bobby completely stagnant in the short time he'd known him. The detective always seemed to be brimming with a sort of restless energy, as though he were a sieve and it poured out of him like water. But now he didn't move at all and it was almost frightening. Harry glanced at Alex, who stared at Bobby in the same unsure way he was certain he did. Finally, after what seemed far too long, Bobby said quietly, "We should write Dumbledore. H-he could arrange for it better than any of us."

Harry released a breath he didn't even realize he'd been holding and started to go upstairs to get some parchment and a quill when, with a small _pop_, Dumbledore appeared in the very direction he'd been heading in. Harry skidded to a stop, but would have collided with the headmaster had he not gently gripped Harry's shoulders and caused him to halt.

"Thank you, Professor," Harry mumbled, straightening his shirt. "I was going to get some parchment so that we could write you. But I now I've remembered Hedwig's off hunting at the moment."

"So it is a very good thing I decided to come here instead, Harry," Dumbledore said, smiling sadly. He looked at Uncle Bobby and Uncle Nick. "It is true. Your mother was put under the Imperius curse tonight after she returned to her room. Lucius Malfoy used the curse to influence her mind and cause a psychotic break."

Uncle Nick swore softly, but fluently in Italian. Bobby, on the other hand, got up and immediately began pacing feverishly all around the room as he'd done in Dumbledore's office the previous week.

"I have already set in place motions to have Frances Goren transferred to St. Mungo's so that our theory--for it was mine, as well--can be put to the test. If it determined that her psychological state was, indeed, caused by magic and cannot be reversed, it has also been arranged that the transfer could be made permanent--"

"No," Uncle Bobby said, interrupting the headmaster and dragging a hand through his hair. "Sh-she needs to come back to New York. Th-there has t-to be a magical hospital here in the States. I'm not leaving my mother in England. She hasn't lived there on a regular basis since she was a young girl. And-and we don't live there."

"Of course," Dumbledore acquiesced, nodding. "That is completely understandable. There is a magical hospital here in New York, St. Galder's. There is simply the matter of contacting them. Once St. Mungo's has determined the problem as well as a course of treatment, she will be sent there and placed under the care of America's finest Healers."

"Healers?" Uncle Nick asked, now apprehensive.

"Doctors are called Healers in the magical world," Harry told him and Dumbledore nodded. "They do magical medicine and fix magical injuries caused by accidents from spells and potions and things like that. I've been to St. Mungo's before, but not as a patient. I visited Mr. Weasley after Voldemort's snake, Nagini, attacked him and I saw it in one of my dreams. My friends and I visited the permanent resident ward, too. We were looking for the lounge and came across it. It's--er, well, they take excellent care of the patients, from what I saw."

"What about that accident last year?" Bobby asked, and Harry looked at him, a little startled. _I forgot he can see my thoughts._

"It was the Death Eaters. They killed a witness, Broderick Bode, with a cutting of Devil's Snare. He had been an Unspeakable in the Department of Mysteries--I guess it's like the magical Scotland Yard or something, they're really...I don't know, it seems to me like they're secret wizard agents."

"Like a magical James Bond," Alex muttered. "Sounds like fun."

"Yeah, I guess. Anyway, the Devil's Snare, it strangled him instantly. They couldn't risk him getting his ability to speak back and telling the Auror Department what he'd been forced to do--he'd been put under the Imperius Curse, too. They were trying to get into the Department of Mysteries and steal a prophecy about me and Voldemort. But there's all sorts of protective wards on the Hall of Prophecy that addle people's brains who touch prophecies that aren't about them. And Voldemort couldn't just walk into the Ministry of Magic, himself, he'd be..." Harry faltered and looked at everyone else, well aware that he'd been heading off on a tangent. "But, erm, anyway, that sort of thing is rare and tied directly to Voldemort."

"So is this," Bobby objected and Harry nodded miserably. Bobby looked at Dumbledore, who seemed to be thinking hard. "Professor, is there such thing as protective custody in the wizarding world? Like Witness Protection?"

At this question, Dumbledore brightened a bit. "Yes, there is. However, since Mrs. Goren is officially a foreigner and, as far as anyone knows, a member of the Muggle world, it has to be cleared with the Ministry of Magic."

"The Statute of Secrecy," Bobby muttered bitterly. "Is--is this Rufus Scrimgeour fair? Would he object to my mother staying at St. Mungo's?"

Dumbledore nodded, "Muggles are given admission to St. Mungo's in the event of magical emergencies."

"Who's Rufus Scrimgeour?" Nick hissed, irritated at having lost his understanding of the conversation so suddenly. But, then, he was talking to his brother. He felt he ought to have been used to it by now.

"The new Minister of Magic," Sara reminded him and Nick looked at her, confused.

"Bobby mentioned him earlier when he and Harry were talking about the wizarding world."

"Oh. Right." Nick frowned, even more irritated. "Well, who's going to pay for Mom to stay in this St. Galder's? I don't think the pension you get from the army's going to be able to do it."

"Muggle money can be converted into wizarding money and vice versa, Anthony," Dumbledore assure him. Nick goggled at this stranger who knew his first name, but swallowed his astonishment. There were more important things to do right now than wonder about that. "It helps the parents of Muggleborns pay for their children's supplies when they attend Hogwarts."

"Oh. A-alright." He took a deep breath, sitting down on the couch. "Well, Bobby, I-if you're alright with this. Y-you know these people better than I do."

"Barely," Bobby murmured to himself, but to Dumbledore he said, "Professor, I'd like to do this. If it helps...Mom...then--then Nick and I want it done."

Dumbledore smiled sadly and nodded. Before Disapparating, however, he gave both Harry and Aaron reassuring smiles. Reaching behind his back, he pulled out a golden brown toy broomstick--a child's replica of a Firebolt, Harry realized--with a scarlet Gryffindor banner around its handle and held it out to Aaron, who stared at it momentarily, obviously wary of strangers like his parents taught him to be.

"It's alright, baby," Sara said soothingly, taking the toy broomstick and handing it to Aaron, who took it but continued to stare at Dumbledore with wide dark eyes. "The nice man won't hurt you. He's one of Uncle Bobby and Harry's friends."

Dumbledore smiled again, a bit wider this time, and Disapparated.

* * *

This is my life you led  
This is my life you bled

* * *

St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries  
London, England  
26 June 2004  
12:01 am 

It had been arranged quietly. Bobby would Side-Along Apparate with Anthony to their mother's hospital and meet the Ministry officials ready to bring them all to London where Frances would be admitted to St. Mungo's. An additional cadre from the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad would Modify the staff's memories with specific instructions from Dumbledore to tell them that Frances had been transferred earlier in the month to a different facility. Bobby had handled that part, telling them about another hospital downstate. Sara would stay with Aaron at Hogwarts; the wards on the castle having been modified for the time being. Anthony, Sara, and Aaron would return home to the States in two weeks' time and letters explaining what had happened in Muggle terms would meanwhile be sent to both Anthony and Sara's employers with the addition of a more explicit letter to Deakins at Bobby's request.

The plan, oddly enough, went off with the precision of a finely-planned sting operation. Within an hour, Bobby found himself, Anthony, Harry, and Alex walking down the halls of a hospital that somehow seemed less sterile than a Muggle facility but, at the same time, even safer. It felt strange, given that it _was _a hospital, but Bobby honestly couldn't imagine staphylococcus or meningitis breeding there.

Healers Smethwyck and Pye, who recognized Harry from his previous visit to St. Mungo's both nodded to him as he and the others passed. The Long-Term Care ward was on the seventh floor, he recalled, as they rode the lift upward.

Once they reached the Long-Term Care ward, Bobby and Anthony strode through the double doors to see their mother settled in a bed, being given a light blue potion by a Healer.

"You guys gave her a Calming Draught, didn't you?" Bobby asked, remembering the instantaneous effects of the potion when he took it.

"It was administered before she was brought over from the States, Detective," the Healer answered, walking over to shake hands with both men. He nodded to Harry, who nodded back. "That's just a smaller dose to help her stay that way until she's calm enough to attempt communication. Her immediate prognosis is excellent, all things considered. It's a good thing we were able to take the Imperius Curse off before it had done irreversible damage, but there's still quite enough to be going on with."

"May I ask, uh, what's your name?" Bobby asked, trying to still sound hopeful, calm, and not at all homicidal.

"Healer David Jamison," the Healer answered, calmly, ignoring the way the American detective's Muggle brother was staring at the unfortunate Agnes, who had accidentally been partially Transfigured into a dog. Nonetheless, he was gratified when the other American detective stomped on the man's foot and brought his attention back to where it belonged.

"Okay, Healer Jamison," Bobby said, now slightly calmer. He ran his hand through his unruly hair, though it was already standing on end, and then the other hand came to rest over his mouth, rubbing the stubble covered orifice almost compulsively.

"Would you like some, as well, Detective?" Healer Jamison asked calmly, quite used to worried family members.

Bobby sighed shakily, his fists clenching and unclenching. "I probably better--I could jeopardize my badge with the mood I'm in."

The Healer nodded at this candid confession and walked away for a moment, returning with a small glass of light blue liquid, which Bobby drank quickly. Almost instantly, the fidgeting lessened a remarkable degree and Bobby was able to breathe deeply.

"Would you like some, as well, sir?" Healer Jamison offered another small glassful to Anthony, who eyed him suspiciously before gingerly taking it.

"It's not drugs, Nick," Bobby assured him. "It's not marijuana or anything horrible like that. It'll help you concentrate."

"Isn't that what speed freaks usually say right before their next fix?"

Bobby sighed. "I don't mean keep you up all night. I just mean you won't continue to experience the panic attacks we were both having earlier. It's like Xanax or Ativan in the Muggle world."

"Those are addictive."

Bobby then gave him a flat stare. "Anthony, either take it or don't take it. You're not the important one here, Mom is."

Anthony frowned momentarily before knocking back the potion as though it were whiskey. Instantly, the angry, distrustful expression in his eyes melted away and he took a deep breath.

"I better not get hooked on this stuff, Bobby," he said without smiling.

"You won't, sir," Healer Jamison assured him. "As it is, it would have been tough going attempting to explain what your mother has been through to either of you in the state you both arrived in."

"She's been under the Imperius Curse all this time?" Bobby asked, a tendril of fear wrapping itself around his heart.

"Not all this time, no," Healer Jamison said, in worried tones. "But the time she did spend under it was long enough that it caused--"

"A nervous breakdown," Bobby muttered, turning away to look at his mother, now sleeping more peacefully than he'd ever seen her.

"I would say more of an adverse reaction. She actually shows a marked _resistance _to the Curse until an experience of some sort damaged her will. In fact, from the tests we performed on her cerebral activity, it seemed that this curse had been performed on her _several _times, each showing little to no effect at all."

Bobby spun back around, his eyes widened slightly, his left fist to his mouth. He glanced at Harry, remembering what his nephew had told him about the impostor Moody having put him under the Imperius Curse repeatedly until he could no longer be affected by it.

"Are you saying..."

"There are other curses at work here, some we have yet to even identify, Detective. For the Imperius Curse to have affected your mother at all, her will had to be damaged to a remarkable degree. This abuse has to have been going on since she was a child or, at the very least, an adolescent."

Anthony was goggling at them both, plainly misunderstanding. Harry took a deep breath. He understood, all right.

"So..." Anthony ventured, trying to comprehend. "Are you telling us our mother was never schizophrenic?"

"I-I don't know. It could be the trauma _caused _the initial breakdown. But--but schizophrenia doesn't exist in the wizarding world, Anthony, I told you," Bobby said, waving a hand and beginning to pace back and forth. "She _would_ have only received a diagnosis like that in the Muggle world, where they don't have magic to explain things like this. They don't know there _are _witches and wizards; it's been hidden from them. Schizophrenia would have been their _only _explanation. This was magic. Dark magic. It could mean that Mom's a witch--that she hasn't been sick from that all this time."

"So I'd be one of those Squib things? Wizards who can't do magic?"

"No, I'm pretty sure Dad was a Muggle. That would make me a half-blood like Harry and James. A-and you would have just taken after Dad, that's all. Anyway, Healer Jamison, if our mother's a witch, would there be record in the Magical world of what school she went to?"

"Yes, along with her wand's maker, the year she left school--your mother spent time here in England."

"Yes, but I think she went to school in New York like we did. She spent summers in Europe with our relatives. Her wand's maker and the school she went to would have both been American."

"There are several American schools for magic. Hogwarts is one of the biggest in the world, however, and would have that information--"

"In the library," Bobby concluded with a small smile. Then the smile faded away and he turned back to face his mother, watching her breathe deeply and evenly. "Was it the Cruciatus Curse?"

"Well, we haven't finished running all the necessary tests--"

Bobby whirled back around, his hand flying away from his mouth. It was clear that the Calming Draught was the only thing keeping him in line. "Healer Jamison, in your _professional opinion_, does it look as though the Cruciatus Curse was placed on my mother at some time early on in her life?"

"Yes," Healer Jamison said, his eyes widening slightly. Smiling grimly, Bobby once again turned away, this time frowning.

Alex walked up to him and immediately noticed what was causing Bobby's morose expression. In the bed, Frances was moaning faintly, beginning to stir. Striding up to the bed, Bobby felt Anthony press in on his other side and they both watched as their mother awoke from what was seemingly a nightmare.

"Robert," Frances said weakly, reaching for him before exhaustion caused her hand to fall back to the bed. "Anthony--I..." she sighed quietly, tears forming and sliding down her face.

"It's okay, Mom," Bobby whispered, frowning deeply as tears came to his own eyes. "They can't hurt you anymore. You're safe now."

"That's right, Mom," Anthony agreed, his voice muffled and thick. "We won't let them near you."

Frances smiled slightly, then, her hand coming to rest on Bobby's hand, now positioned on her shoulder. "You're a wizard, darling."

Bobby smiled a bit, nodding. Reaching into his pocket, he produced his wand. "Yeah--uh, Mr. Ollivander made this for me earlier this week. It's ash, twelve-and-a-half inches, with a phoenix feather core."

Frances' smile deepened. "I always knew you had magic, my dear."

Bobby blushed deeply, "Um..." He didn't really know what to say to that.

"Harry's not really your friend," Frances said suddenly and Bobby's heart hitched painfully. "He's your nephew. By your father."

"You knew about that," Anthony said darkly, a scowl coming to his face. "How Dad always treated you."

"I figured it out soon enough," Frances said airily, as though it were a fact she'd accepted long ago. "He has several of your father's expressions. Just as you both do."

She gently prodded Bobby aside and smiled at Harry who, now scarlet in pallor, inched closer. He was deeply ashamed of his grandfather's actions and hated him for how he'd done by his family.

As though Frances had read his mind, she said softly. "Anthony wasn't perfect, Harry, you must remember that. None of us are. Don't hate him."

"He was a selfish, ignorant, mean-spirited prat," Harry bit out before he could stop himself. "He hated Uncle Bobby for no good reason and treated him like the Dursleys treated me."

Frances laughed softly, her eyes saddened as she turned to look up at her youngest son.

"He didn't _hate _Robert, Harry, I assure you. He loved him, in his own way, which--I am sure--is very different from how the Dursleys feel about you. Anthony simply didn't deal well with a son whose mannerisms and intelligence were so out of his realm of experience. Does that help?"

Harry smiled slightly. "You sound like Uncle Bobby talking about the Dursleys."

"Now you know where he gets it from," Uncle Nick told him, smiling and reaching down to kiss his mother on the cheek.

"Don't worry, Harry," Frances told him, seemingly seeing his thoughts as Uncle Bobby and Professor Snape could. "We'll take care of you. You're of our blood."

"We'll take care of you, too, Mom," Bobby interjected, noting with irritation that Healer Jamison had left the ward. "Whoever's been hurting you all this time--we'll get them. Alex, Harry, and I--"

"Um," Alex interjected in turn, raising a hand. "Muggle, here. No magical powers to be found. You said they'd kill Anthony and roast him over an open flame. What would be so different about me? I'm sure police training doesn't go that far. It's like asking someone who's still plugged into the Matrix to go up against Agent Smith. Not gonna happen."

Despite her negative assessment of her own abilities, Bobby and Harry both smiled at her reference to _The Matrix._

"Oh, come on, Alex, you know you're my Trinity," Bobby grinned.

Alex chuckled, rolling her eyes. "Um, you _do _remember what happened in _The Matrix Reloaded_, right?"

"Okay, not that far, but you get my point."

"You three are being _incredibly _geeky," Anthony observed, smirking. "So it's obvious that Bobby's rubbed off on you two."

"Anthony, what did I tell you about making fun of your brother--Robert, did you take your nap?"

"Yes, Mom," Bobby affirmed, blushing slightly. "Um...okay, there's no easy way to say this--"

"You want to know about my childhood," Frances said calmly and Bobby looked at her.

"You were never asleep, were you?"

Frances bit her lip. "I was thinking."

"Another trait in common," Alex murmured, looking pointedly at Bobby, who sighed unhappily.

"Mom, did you know who did this to you?"

"Very well, actually...or I thought I did. Abraxas Malfoy. My father--your grandfather...used to make me accompany him and Mother to his fancy dress parties during our summer holidays here. I had to wear dress robes with the family crest embroidered on them. The family motto...**_Toujours Pur..."_**

_"Always pure_ in French," Bobby mumbled, frowning deeply.

"You're a _Black_?" Harry asked, an icy dread flowing through his body. He remembered seeing the Black Family Tree hanging in the Drawing Room of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. He didn't remember seeing Frances' name anywhere.

"My name wouldn't be on the tree, dear," Frances answered gently. "I'm certain Sirius told you about our family's practice of removing those who don't live up to their _pureblooded potential_..."

"I'm--we're Blacks?" Bobby asked, gesturing toward himself and Anthony, who was far more confused than either Bobby or Harry.

"They wouldn't have accepted or acknowledged either of you, so while theoretically, yes, you are; no, you are not. I married your father and was blasted off the tapestry, just as Andromeda was for the same reason. Sirius was removed for not having enough _pride _in his pureblood status, for being Sorted into Gryffindor when most of the British side of our family was in Slytherin, and finally for leaving home at the age of sixteen to go stay with James' family. Andromeda Tonks is my cousin, just as Sirius was. They were far younger than I am, of course. I was already grown when they were each born. Regulus, as well."

"Tonks--er, Andromeda's daughter wasn't acknowledged, either," Harry said, remembering what Sirius had explained to him.

"Yes, I remember that quite well. Her mother was furious. Marrying a Muggleborn..._imagine_..."

Another sardonic smile returned to her face. Her sad eyes alighted on where her youngest son was pacing back and forth in front of the bed, his left hand to his mouth, muttering to himself. She frowned, then, worriedly watching him.

"Oh no, dear, I've gotten you all in a bother."

Bobby stopped, still fidgeting compulsively. "It's _them _who've gotten me all in a bother, Mom. So--so Draco, who is Sirius' second cousin, is also _my _second cousin. Family. We've got to get him to move back in with us before Lucius realizes he's at Hogwarts."

"Oh, he already knows, I assure you," Frances said, struggling to sit up. Anthony, who was closest, immediately reached to help her. "He's going to make it his business to have Draco pay for what Lucius would call his _betrayal_ of the family name, of the Dark Lord."

"So, there were three Mr. Blacks, who were brothers?" Alex asked, frowning in thought.

"Yes, my father, Sirius' father, and Andromeda's father. I'm sure Harry already knows about Andromeda's sisters."

Harry snorted, "Narcissa Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange, who both made lovely, respectable pureblood marriages and one of whom had dear Draco. Yes, I know about them. Bella's criminally insane and tried to kill me last year. Lucius and those other maniacs did, as well. Bella was the one who murdered Sirius. Her own cousin. Not that _that _matters much."

"You're a blood traitor," Bobby said then, watching his mother. "And Andromeda and the Weasleys all are, too."

"We're not hateful, so we're traitors," Frances agreed, waving a hand carelessly. "Mother had herself a _fit _when she found out about your father. She said she never should have persuaded Father to let me go to New York on any such _vacation_."

"And our grandfather?" Anthony asked cautiously. "What did he say?"

"Nothing. Father didn't speak to me for the rest of his life. He died when you were two, Anthony."

"So I wasn't born yet," Bobby mused, sighing. "And, might I add that this day has been so much _fun_?"

"Stop being so sarcastic, dear," Frances admonished. "You'll choke on your own bad mood."

"I think I would have done that years ago, Mom," Bobby mumbled, frowning. Running a hand through his already unruly hair, he looked around for a chair and found one, picking it up and bringing it over to the end of his mother's bed. "I also think my body's become accustomed to it by now."

Frances sighed, gazing sadly at Bobby. "I'm very proud of you, you know. You took such good care of me--at the expense of yourself. Both of you--you're both such good men."

Bobby and Nick both blushed. Yawning slightly, Frances settled back on her pillow and looked fondly at Alex. "You'll try to keep Robert out of trouble, won't you, Alexandra?"

Alex smirked, "Easier said than done, but I'll try. Harry and Draco, too. I'm sure you'll be reading about them all in paper eventually."

Bobby frowned. "Damned Daily Profiteer," he muttered, glancing at Harry, who scowled, as well. The Daily Prophet had run a full-length front page article that previous Friday about Harry and his mysterious uncle having suddenly appeared in his life. Information on Bobby himself, as well as Alex, had appeared, though none of it was very specific and much of it could have been guessed. However, the answer to how anyone outside Hogwarts had gotten hold of the information, no one knew, but Hermione had told them that she had a few theories. And now they were bound to find out about Draco and Dudley, as well, putting everyone's lives in danger for the sake of revenue. Still, the entire situation made both Bobby and Harry extremely angry. As not even the New York Times or Post had ever posted _any _personal information whatsoever on Bobby or Alex before, this was a new low. It was one, unfortunately, that Harry was used to.

"Mom," Anthony said, then, noting his mother's exhaustion. "You should rest. We'll come back tomorrow."

"Nonsense," Frances said sleepily but sternly. "Robert has school and so do you, Harry. You will not abandon your lessons. Besides, dear, you haven't had your flying lesson yet. You don't want to miss that."

"I think I would," Bobby protested softly, flushing faintly.

"You would not, nor will you. This weekend you can come tell me all about it." There was a finality in her tone that made Bobby pout miserably.

"But you're in here unprotected," Anthony protested, frowning.

"Dumbledore is sending a-a few Aurors to watch over Mom, actually," Bobby conceded, sighing heavily. "Shacklebolt, Moody, and Dawlish."

"See, Anthony, I'll be perfectly fine."

"I don't know who those guys are," Anthony objected, scowling as well. "They could be secretly working for this Dark Lord jerk."

"They're alright," Harry assured him. "I met them all last year. Kingsley Shacklebolt used to be in charge of the hunt for Sirius and was feeding the Ministry all this false information about him being spotted in Tibet or wherever. He was cool. Dawlish, I only saw once the night Dumbledore left Hogwarts. But Dumbledore had said he was a good guy, an excellent Auror. Moody, however, thought it'd be a treat to show me a picture of my mum and dad right before they got killed, though. I don't think he could tell I was disturbed by it."

"He probably thought you'd just like seeing Lily and James' picture," Bobby said understandably, picking his jacket up from the back of his chair and putting it back on. Sighing again, he came to stand by his mother's bedside, reaching down to kiss her on the cheek. Anthony took his turn after him and they waited until she was fully asleep before leaving.

* * *

Wake up, wake up in an outline  
And try to sleep with the shattered voice of the lives we lead  
Have we slept too long between the bullet holes in a stained-glass window state?  
When we repent, we fall on the page (read, in the margins) we are the symptoms of letting go of all our hope  
Someday we'll be complete like modern saints, baptize our kids in gasoline and hang our doubts up in cathedrals so that they turn to faith in the colored sunlight  
'Red rain, red rain' we'll make as we're blacking out in the center lane...do you hear the church bells ringing? They ring for you

* * *

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  
Hogsmeade, Highlands, Scotland  
The Grounds  
26 June, 2004  
11:19 am 

Harry stood in a black, white, and red **THURSDAY **t-shirt depicting scenes from the cover and booklet of their album, **War All the Time **and black jeans, his right hand gripping his Firebolt, watching bemusedly as Uncle Bobby stood next to one of the old rickety school broomsticks that all first years used to learn how to fly. Beside him, Uncle Nick was rubbing his arm where Aunt Sara had elbowed him for beginning to laugh at how nauseous Uncle Bobby looked standing next to his broomstick. Down in front of Alex, Aaron was gripping his own miniature Firebolt and staring at Uncle Bobby with intense interest.

Out with Madam Hooch, Bobby was keenly aware of the fact that everyone--including Alex, who lately brought out this horrible feeling in him that he didn't want to humiliate himself in front of her. And including Harry who flew well enough to be picked for the Gryffindor Quidditch team during his first year; a feat no one in recent memory had managed--in his family as well as Harry's small circle of friends was watching him. Ron, Hermione, Draco--who had moved back into the apartment in an almost suspiciously expedient manner--Luna, Ginny, Holden, and Neville watched, as well. Neville's trembling hands bore witness to his remembrance of his own accident first year when on this very same field for this exact reason. Taking a deep breath, he crossed his fingers in hope that Bobby would be as good as Harry.

Biting his lower lip, Bobby tried to listen to Madam Hooch's instructions on how to properly mount a broomstick. He had managed to pass the first test, his broomstick jumping swiftly into his left hand when he told it, "Up!" Now for the trickier part of actually flying the damned thing.

He swung his right leg over the broom and sat near the tail as he was told, his legs bent slightly in preparation for the horrible part where his feet would leave the ground.

"Now," Madam Hooch told him firmly. "On my whistle, Detective, push off _slightly_ and hover a bit, before tipping the handle down toward the ground and coming back in for a landing--are you alright, Detective?"

Her lone student was suddenly a horrible ashen color, his skin clammy and his breathing becoming shallow and erratic. Something was quite wrong here.

Madam Hooch walked up to Bobby, her mouth moving but no words coming out that he could hear. All he could feel was the intense nausea, the heat of his moist skin inside his suddenly boiling hot shirt; then a strange falling sensation followed by the coolness of the grass tickling his hot face. He took a deep breath, then blackness fell over him...

"_Bobby, come on, wake up..."_ Alex's concerned voice rolled over him, bringing Bobby out of the comfort of unconsciousness that had soothed him many times before. He could smell where he was before he saw it. Various potions, now quite familiar, in bottles and jars on shelves, their strong, thick antiseptic smells assaulting his nose. Then, the murky vision of Alex leaning over him coming into focus.

"Oh God," Bobby muttered, now feeling quite sick again. Alex, Anthony, Sara, Draco, and Harry were all gathered around his bed in the hospital wing. Draco sported a bruise on his left arm where someone had recently punched him. "Go away, all of you."

"Well, _gee_," Anthony griped, then, irritable. "No 'thank you, everyone for sitting by my bedside all these hours.' Instead, it's 'screw you all.'"

"Stop it, Anthony," Sara chided, frowning at him. "You _know_ Bobby's afraid of heights. He didn't even want those flying lessons but--"

"But Mom said he'd enjoy them so he did it, like a moron. Damn it, Bobby. Reminding Mom that you were afraid of heights wasn't going to piss her off." Anthony sighed, shaking his head. "You never even got off the ground, you know. Just fell out cold, right there, broomstick still in your hand. _Pffft. _Gone."

Bobby moaned, pulling the white linen sheets up to cover his head. "Go away, please. I do appreciate you all sitting here like this but, please, go away now."

"Sorry," Alex said softly, a consoling smile on her face as she yanked the sheets out of Bobby's hand. "Not gonna happen. You know that."

"At _least _tell me I didn't vomit." Bobby's stomach felt unpleasantly empty and devoid of feeling. He hoped his breakfast wasn't on the ground being consumed by nature.

"You've been spared that particular indignity," Draco supplied unhelpfully and Harry punched him in the same spot. He whirled around to face the dark haired boy. "Damn it, Potter, if you don't stop punching me--"

"If you _both _don't stop, I'll let Madam Pomfrey throw you two out," Alex told them impatiently, effectively shutting them both up. "Look, Bobby, come out from under those sheets. No one is going to laugh at you for being afraid of heights."

"Yeah right. I'm not just afraid of heights, Alex. I'm...I'm..."

_Petrified,_ Harry realized, feeling rather unhappy for his uncle at the moment. He supposed it was like his own fear of needles. Uncle Bobby didn't like needles, either, but Harry was terrified of them, refusing to let his pediatrician give him any vaccinations or booster shots as a child, screaming and crying, kicking at the doctor until he gave up in frustration. One time, his accidental magic caused a chicken pox vaccine to freeze inside the vial before it could even be siphoned into a needle. Hermione had had similar experiences, herself, involving other things.

"Uncle Bobby," he told the large, obscured figure in the bed. "We won't laugh. I'm afraid of needles. I froze a chicken pox vaccine with accidental magic once when I was five."

"Bobby do you want to know when you scared me?" Alex asked, gentle gaze on him so that he could feel it through the bed sheet that covered his head.

"When?" He asked in a small voice, thinking of every case they'd ever worked on. "Besides every time."

"That is not true," Alex objected, her frown evident in her voice. "Contrary to what seems to be your belief, Bobby, I have the utmost confidence in you and your abilities."

"So when did I scare you?" Bobby asked, then, pulling the sheet from over his head and looking, to Alex, like a little boy. Harry had the same quality, she noted. Somehow, Anthony seemed to lack it. Possibly because he took after their father in most respects, from what she knew about him and could see. Bobby, on the other hand, was his mother's son.

"That day on that building scaffold when you purposely overbalanced yourself. I could've killed you for that. I hadn't yet figured out that you have a superb sense of balance. _Or _that, if it's in the interest of your obsession with catching bad guys, you will forget all about your fear of heights. But that day...was horrible. I thought you would fall and die and that the next time I saw you, I'd be identifying your blood splattered remains in the city morgue after having been scraped up from the sidewalk like old gum."

Bobby stared at Alex, floored by her admission of being afraid for his life. He suddenly understood why she hadn't talked to him for the rest of the day, had refused to look at him. She thought he'd done it in fun. That he didn't care whether he died or not.

"I'm really sorry," Bobby mumbled, now sufficiently contrite. "Um...I won't do that again."

"You better not, or _I'll _put you in the hospital," Alex threatened, glaring at him for good measure. "Stupid idiot."

"You know, stupid and idiot _do _essentially mean the same thing," Bobby corrected, smiling as Alex grabbed his pillow and hit him in the face with it.

"Madam Pomfrey," Alex said then, raising an eyebrow at him. "I think Bobby hit his head on the ground. You might want to keep him overnight."

"I certainly plan to," Madam Pomfrey affirmed, coming back into the room and conjuring an ice pack, which she promptly placed against Bobby's head, much to his displeasure. "Hold this to your head. I'll be back in twenty minutes to give you some soup."

And she left again, and Bobby gritted his chattering teeth and glared at Alex. "Liar," he hissed, annoyed. "You did that on purpose!"

"Yes, you see, you're not the only one who's underhanded." She stood and stretched lazily, flaunting her movements in front of an increasingly irate Bobby. "Well, I guess we'll all be seeing you tomorrow. Enjoy your soup."

With that, she herded everyone out and left Bobby fuming in his bed.

* * *

And then I felt the scrapes  
From the slippery subway grate  
Oh how you laughed at my complete lack of grace  
But I could not recall a more perfect fall  
'cause when I looked up into your eyes it didn't hurt at all

* * *

**A/N:** Well, that certainly took on a life of its own. Blucougar57, I hope you're happy with the flying lesson...or lack, thereof. I think Bobby would and could be a great flier if he could get past this fear of heights permanently, rather than only when he's on a case. If he could find a way to feel that free and unrestricted all the time, it'd be great. Anyway, enjoy. Please, all who read this, please review; it's greatly appreciated. 


	13. I Can’t Make it On My Own

**Ominous  
**_By Angelfirenze_

**Disclaimer, etc.:** Duh. Lyrics and quotes from various sources.

**Summary:** Whatever happens, happens. But, I have to say now that there will be _**SPOILERS** _of varying degrees from both Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince as well as tidbits, etc. from the others. If you still haven't read HbP and plan to at some point, keep FAR, FAR AWAY. Wait to read the rest of this story after that, please. There. If you ignore that glaring warning, in the words of Mrs. Weasley, on your own head be it. Also, part of this chapter is inspired by a certain scene during Buffy the Vampire Slayer's third season, involving Oz and Willow, who remain my second favorite Jossverse pairing (the first being Bangel; that's right, I still ship, even now). Anyway, if you've seen or read about that scene at all, you'll recognize the reference.

**Notes:** Okay, you guys know how I set up the basic premise for the sequel, involving the X-Files? Well, thanks to a certain group of writers over at the haremxf community at LJ, a large chunk of what I had planned has been blown out of the water. The pilot episode alone of XFVCU (X-Files Violent Crime Unit) is just plain beautiful. It takes all the best parts of my premise and takes them one step further. The only thing is that in their world, CSM is still dead, dead, dead. I don't want that. Why, you ask? I have my reasons. But, anyway, I guess what I'm trying to say is that if you're reading this fic and you're also an X-Phile like myself, then GO, NOW, and read this series. 'Tis brilliant. I'm rather sad because there haven't been any new episodes since 2003, but the ones that are up? (squees humongously) Fuck yeah. Anyway...on with the show.

Oh yeah, one last thing. I think you all might hate me by the end of this story. I'm just saying...

**Dedications:** To all the writers at haremxf, to Heather, to Jenn, to Beka, and every other writer whose work with this broad, unending universe we've all immensely enjoyed. All the ones at AI know who you are. To all my favorite cops and agents, as well as the magnificent brains behind them.

**Inspiration:** Um...the fic _Prodigy _by jmcqk6. The movie _Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire,_ which I will finally be seeing sometime this week, hopefully. Journals by Kurt Cobain. The written version of _The Butterfly Effect_. Livejournal. Um...the movie, _Dogma_. Probably because of Metatron, who is played by Alan Rickman, who also plays Snape. Not to mention, he also played Marvin the Paranoid Android in _THHGttG_, which came out in April. ("Because of who you are." "And who am I?" "The girl in the PJs; just serve your purpose!") Snarktastic, isn't he? (gushes) Hm. I've run out of inspiration ideas, which proves once again that I'm not reading enough anymore. It's really started to bother me. Bleargh.

Part XII: I Can't Make it On My Own

* * *

You showed me more than just railways  
It was your passion, and I learned that well  
You gave me more in live than anyone deserves  
And forever, I'll keep your bloodline legacy  
And you're always on my mind

* * *

"Detective, could you tell me what wolfsbane is?" Snape's deep, flat voice carried easily through the dungeon, amplified in Bobby's ears as though Snape were speaking into a tiny microphone like a newscaster would. 

Sighing inwardly, Bobby looked up from his notes concerning the various substances he recognized floating around the room. In the rear of the chilled dungeon, he could feel Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Draco's eyes on his back and Alex was watching him from the seat adjacent to his. He was thankful the rest of his family and Harry's friends had decided to sleep in this morning and have a late breakfast. Neville, in particular, seemed inclined to stay as far away from Snape as he could get. Bobby didn't blame him, really.

"Wolfsbane," he said quietly but clearly, a slight frown on his stubble-covered face. "Is a potion that, when brewed properly, enables a werewolf to maintain its human mind once transformed and not become a slave to its instincts, killing and maiming remorselessly as werewolves are wont to do. It is a very recent discovery that enables people afflicted with lycanthropy to maintain healthy family lives and jobs. It does not, however, lessen their sensitivity to silver or the full moon."

Professor Snape paused momentarily before shooting a decidedly annoyed look at Alex, who grinned back unabashedly. It was only their second class with Snape--their first being filled with the sort of note taking that Alex loathed but Bobby hadn't minded one bit; it only added to what he, himself, had already done--and Snape had tried to intimidate Bobby both times, failing on each attempt. Bobby wanted to take this in stride, remembering how he'd had to gain Deakins' confidence and respect back when he'd first joined MCS. Deakins had ultimately let up, eventually becoming more amused than irritated by Bobby's unorthodox investigative methods. He figured that, if necessary, he would do it again. Besides, had Charms after this and that was a class he truly enjoyed. Just the other day, Hermione had shown him the charm used by the D.A. the previous year to alert its members of a coming meeting. He'd mastered it within two tries and was quite gratified by the bright smiles Hermione and Harry had both given him.

On a more depressing note, Harry swore he was going get him on a broomstick; a project Bobby loathed more than anything any of the teachers could have given him. Still, there was an undeniable logic to Harry's resolve: If he could conquer his fear of heights, if he ever met up with Voldemort or the Death Eaters--which, given his lineage, seemed entirely likely--they couldn't use it against him. They had each already vanquished their fears of having their blood drawn, so what was heights? Given his magical abilities, it was also likely that the worst that could happen would be his death, but he faced that every day with both feet on the ground, didn't he? So this couldn't be any--

Bobby grimaced as Alex stomped on his left foot. Professor Snape was glaring at him, now quite annoyed. After a pause, he said, "Twenty points from Gryffindor for your lapse in attention, Detective, now if you could pull your head back onto your shoulders, please set about making this simple potion."

Bobby sighed, but nodded apologetically, something Professor Snape didn't seem to be accustomed to. Frowning, he gestured toward the previously blank board behind him, which was now covered in instructions. On another board, a different set of directions was written out for Harry and Ron, who was retaking his own Potions O.W.L. at his mother's insistence. Hermione and Draco were sitting across the room, having been moved there by Professor Snape to keep Hermione from assisting Harry or Ron. Draco had been moved simply to keep things fair--Alex had scoffed at Snape's inference that he understood what the word 'fair' meant--and was yawning with boredom, doodling absently on a length of parchment with a quill.

Reading the instructions for the potion he was to make--Hair-Color Change potion, which Bobby certainly remembered seeing in the third-year Potions book, as opposed to the first, he prepared his ingredients and began brewing them according to the instructions. Sighing heavily, he skipped forward to near the back of the book until he came to the pages for the potion Snape had set Harry.

Here was a potion for instantaneous pain relief, particularly the kind needed for victims of Cruciatus Curse. Bobby didn't remember that being in the sixth or seventh year curriculum and, by the look on Harry's face, he didn't either, however he drove that out of his mind as he raised his hand.

"Professor Snape," he waited patiently for the Potions master to acknowledge his existence. Once Professor Snape raised his eyebrow in Bobby's direction again, Bobby plowed on. "May I borrow a second cauldron, please? I'd like to attempt the other potion."

He could feel Alex's incredulous eyes on him, hear Ron snickering in the back and imagined he was silently taunting Hermione. The snickering stopped abruptly and Bobby figured with satisfaction that Hermione had threatened him with her wand. That was when Draco chuckled a bit.

Snape was so surprised at Bobby's request that he paid his other students no mind at all. Rising, he made his way over to peer into Bobby's cauldron. "The contents of your cauldron, Detective, should be a very pale green at this stage if you've combined the ingredients correctly. I highly doubt--"

He was looking into Bobby's cauldron now, a blank look having descended onto his face. Next to him, Alex smiled satisfactorily, filling the silence that had suddenly descended. "So, Sev. Now that Bobby's potion is the _very _pale green you described, can he try the other potion? Or are you going to be a jerk about that, too?"

Harry and Ron both choked back laughs, Ron shoving his fist in this mouth. Snape glared at the two of them and they immediately shut up.

Snape glared at Alex, then, and gave her an extremely sour look, but she continued to smile at him in a falsely sweet fashion. A moment later, Bobby had to hold back a snort as he registered her raised middle finger beneath the table before them.

"Professor," Snape scowled, and Alex chuckled.

"Remember what I said about not wanting to make people think things that aren't true? Well, this is one of those times, Sevvy."

She distinctly heard two more snorts from the back of the room.

Snape scowled as he waved his wand and a cauldron came clanging onto the table, narrowly missing Bobby's other still simmering brew.

"Are you trying to give us all third-degree burns!" Alex yelled, coming up from where she and Bobby had each dived away from the table in case there was a spill. Bobby sighed and straightened his robes.

Snape didn't answer, instead sweeping dramatically back up to his desk and sitting down, a deep frown on his face.

"Now, now," Bobby smiled, leaning down to whisper in her ear. "Play nicely with the other children, Alex."

"You're one of those _children, _too, ya know. Does that mean I have to play nicely with _you_?" She grinned back up at him, loving the faint red tinge his cheeks got.

"Not necessarily," he grinned, at the same time wondering what the hell he was doing. Alex said nothing, simply smiling mischievously and gesturing toward the empty cauldron, which set Bobby immediately to work.

* * *

At the bottom of the barrel  
To great surprise, we found our lives  
So intertwined  
And when the moon lifts off  
Yeah, we're side by side  
If this is my valley  
My memorial park  
Tie me to the last living tree  
And shoot your life at me

* * *

That evening, on the way to dinner, Bobby stopped suddenly, turning to face Alex and taking several deep breaths. 

"Is there something wrong?" Alex asked, watching as Bobby carefully removed his bag and set it on the floor.

"Okay," he said as though steeling himself for something. "Um...I-I'm going to ask you to go out with me. T-to the village this Saturday. You can say no. In fact, I think a large part of me expects it. But y-you asked...was there something wrong? The truth is, I don't know. I mean, there's the sweaty palms and a certain, uncomfortably empty feeling in the region normally occupied by my stomach. Nervousness. Women haven't made me feel nervous in a long time. It's a rather new-feeling...feeling. And now I'm rambling."

He still hadn't looked her in the eye. Part of her wondered if he even knew he was talking aloud. A smile came to her face. "But, the-the point is-is that I'm asking you--my partner--on a date, which is quite against the rules and--and against protocol and a billion other things and this...could end badly and-and I'm not even going to list all the bad things that could happen--"

"Good," Alex said, smirking up at him and feeling said smirk grow into a full-fledged smile as some unconscious part of Bobby realized he had, indeed, been speaking aloud. "Because I was going to say 'yes,' and I didn't want to hear anything that might discourage me."

"And--" He stopped mid-sentence. It was all Alex could do not to start laughing at the surprised expression that fell on his face with all the subtlety of a chunk of concrete. "Yes?"

"Yeah, Bobby. Yes. Please don't play nicely with me." Alex giggled then, at the way his head tilted as though he were trying to solve a riddle in a case. "What?"

"Um...why?"

"If you were going to ask that then why the hell did you ask me out?"

"Because I know why _I _like you, but I...um…"

"You want to know why I like you."

"Uh, yeah. I'm just curious. I-I mean, you don't have to tell me or anything--" Alex shot him a look.

"Oh please. Yes, I most certainly do. If I _don't _tell you, you'll never sleep again!"

With that, she began to walk toward the Great Hall. Bobby stared after her before snatching up his bag and hurrying to catch up with her. His much longer legs enabled him to catch up to her more quickly, however it didn't stop her from suppressing laughter at the way he looked while running. He was so adorable. All legs.

"So you're _not _going to tell me," Bobby surmised, frowning once he was beside her again. "You're going to let me sweat it out."

"Where would the fun be if I didn't?" Alex grinned, settling herself down on their usual bench.

Across the table, Harry, Ron, and Hermione all certainly seemed very involved with each other. They each had secretive grins on their faces. The same ones Ginny and Draco had been wearing for the past week and a half. In fact, Alex remembered--surprise coming to her face--she'd noticed Harry sneaking back to his room from Gryffindor Tower where the other two, and Neville (Holden had continued staying in the apartment, as he hadn't been Sorted yet) had been sleeping at an ungodly hour the night before.

_Oh. My. God. _She wondered if Bobby realized it or if he had been too busy not sleeping to notice.

"You three enjoy yourselves last night?" She heard her partner ask, his eyes still on the textbook he'd pulled out of his bag, and watched with satisfaction as the three in question froze instantly. Of course he would have.

"Particularly, Mr. I-Broke-Curfew-and-I've-Only-_Just-_Become_-_The-New-Quidditch-Captain, who could very well be kicked off the team if he keeps pushing his luck? The same for the Keeper?"

Bobby eyed the shiny new badge pinned to the front of Harry's robes, the letters '**QC**' picked out on them with the scarlet and gold Gryffindor emblem. Draco was wearing one like it with the silver and green Slytherin insignia instead.

Harry and Ron, now singled out, blushed deeply as they each dug hastily into bowls of chicken noodle soup. Alex watched, the smirk back on her face, as Ron's ears burned red and Hermione began gnawing on her bottom lip so hard it seemed she would chew a hole in it any second. None of them would look up from the table either.

Dudley, who was still sitting at the Gryffindor table, Holden, and Neville all watched interestedly, while Draco--who was having dinner with Ginny--laughed right out loud.

"Busted!" He smirked, grimacing as Ginny elbowed him in the ribs. "Ow."

"I'm only going to say that I don't want to walk in on any of you wherever you happen to be," Bobby said simply, soliciting surprise from the three in question. "And that Nick, Sara, and I don't want to be going to St. Mungo's for great-nephews and nieces we shouldn't be getting."

All three of them looked at him in shock.

"Tactless," Draco chortled, shaking his head. "But you get the job done, don't you?"

"That's not even the worst thing he's said," Alex agreed, glaring at Harry, Hermione, and Ron in turn. "And he _could _have jumped up to the teacher's table, amplified his voice, and let everyone in the whole damned town know."

She chuckled again at the horror on their faces. "I'm just saying. And, keep in mind, I won't stop him either."

"We're being _careful_!" Harry howled, eager to get the spotlight off of him and somewhere else. "We promise!"

"You'd better," Bobby said darkly, finally settling into his beefsteak, slicing it into slivers.

All equally red faced, Harry, Hermione, and Ron all began eating their food, each wearing unhappy looks. Unfortunately, this was when Nick, Sara, and Aaron walked up and sat down around Bobby and Alex, immediately grabbing bowls of food and fixing their plates. Anthony looked up from the roll he was buttering and glanced at Bobby.

"So, did we get things clear about _boundaries _for the time being?"

"We did," Bobby nodded, inwardly enjoying watching Harry cringe and toss an uneasy look at Aaron who, of course, stared innocently back. "No Potter/Goren-Granger-Weasleys will be making their surprise appearance for quite a while."

"Alright, can we just _drop it_, please?" Harry burst out, horrified. "Before the bloody paper starts writing about us? I can't imagine you and Alex would like that done to you?"

Now it was Bobby and Alex's turn to blush, which suited Harry just fine.

"About stinking time," Nick muttered, drawing looks from both Bobby and Alex. "You two should've hooked up a long time ago. Hell, I think you're the only woman I've ever seen who warmed up to Bobby _after _she knew everything. That's dedication."

"Gee, _thanks_, Nick," Bobby scowled, flicking a chunk of bread at him. Nick dodged the projectile and both glanced up to see if Professor McGonagall had noticed anything, as Bobby had enlightened his older brother about her vindictive streak regarding misbehavior, no matter the source. "It's so nice to know you like me as I am."

"Oh shut up, Bobby, I've always liked you--"

Bobby snorted and Nick scowled. "Look here, you little--" he cut himself short and glanced at Aaron, who Ginny was distracting by making the salt and pepper shakers dance. His shrill giggles echoed up from the other end of the table. In an undertone, Nick continued. "You little shit, just because Dad said all that fucked up stuff about you being _girly _and shit because you had fucking emotions and knew how to dress doesn't mean I always felt the same way. It made me angry, the way he always talked down to you and said you'd never be a man and shit like that. I _did _realize I had thoughts of my own eventually; I'd appreciate it if you gave me the benefit of the doubt and stop treating me like those sorry sacks of shit you send to Riker's every day. You're my little brother and I love you, you dick, so shut up."

Nick glared at Bobby, waiting for an answer, their small corner of the world silent. After a moment, Bobby asked, "Is 'shit' your favorite word, Nick?"

"No, actually, it's 'indemnification,'" Nick answered without thinking. Then Bobby began to laugh, prompting Nick to stare at him and marvel. "Oh my God. My little brother is laughing at something I said. And here I thought that was impossible. I haven't made you laugh since you were six months old and someone blowing raspberries on your tummy made giddy with glee. Your sense of humor is far too sophisticated for the likes of me."

"Shut up, Nick; it is not." But Bobby was smiling now, the light back in his eyes. "And like you were that much older. You were five."

"And my sense of humor wasn't _shit_, so there you go. More proof that I was just a rough draft and you were the finished masterpiece. At least to Mom, anyway. You're her golden boy."

"And you think _I _have an inferiority complex?"

"I do not; I simply know my place."

"Okay, I think I'm going to hit you--knock some sense into you. You-you don't mind, do you?"

"Oh, sock away. Your aim could use all the help it can get. You see, Harry, that's why Bobby uses words instead of his gun. He can't aim worth a--"

Bobby whipped out his wand, muttered something and a jet of bright blue light hit Nick square in the chest. He looked up and tried to speak, but no audible words came out.

Bobby smiled and waved his wand again, his brother's voice coming back instantly.

"I oughta beat the hell out of you for that," Nick said calmly, as though this were an everyday occurrence.

"I kept telling you to shut up; you didn't listen."

"Oh _noes_," Anthony said dismissively, going back to his salmon. "So you take my voice away?"

"Seems like the logical solution, Nick."

"Logical, my ass. That was a cheap shot."

"I merely used the resources available to me."

"You cheated, plain and simple."

"It wouldn't be cheating if you could do magic."

"Well, I can't, so--"

"So that's just your tough luck."

"Fuck you," Nick said calmly, taking a swig of pumpkin juice and deciding instantly that he hated it. Swallowing, he drained away the bad taste with apple cider.

"Fuck you, too," Bobby answered flippantly, serving himself a slice of lemon meringue pie.

"You just want the last word," Nick countered, flinging a French fry at Bobby, who dodged it easily.

"So do you, so we're even."

"_Both _of you shut up," Sara said decisively, glaring at the pair of them.

Both men smiled, prompting her to roll her eyes and once again become involved in the magical theory book Hermione had lent her. Ron laughed, his expression disbelieving.

"Wait," Harry said, clearly confused. "Uncle Nick, aren't you angry at Uncle Bobby?"

Nick shook his head, taking another drink of cider. "Nah. I keep trying to convince Bobby that I think the world of him. He thinks everyone hates him. Particularly me. I've never understood that." After a second's thought, he seemed to rethink his answer. "Well, no. I do, but I sure as hell don't like it. He's a fucking genius, but he thinks he's a piece of--"

"I do not," Bobby protested, scowling deeply.

"Yes you do, but I can't--and don't--blame you for your stubbornness. And I don't hate you, for the four billionth time. I hate _him. _Whatever Mom says, Harry's right. Dad was a selfish, mean-spirited prick with a chip on his shoulder the size of fucking Alaska. I wish he was here right now so you and Harry could curse him into oblivion or something. Remember when we cleaned out his apartment? How fucking desolate the end of his life was because he was such an asshole? I don't know how Ferdie could stand him; I mean, he's a decent guy hanging out with this miserable old bastard. They were probably too busy playing the ponies to have any real conversation. But here he was, probably regretting the shit he put you through. But it was too late because he was going to die and anyway, he hasn't spoken to you practically since you were eleven. What the hell was he going to say? I'm sorry I was such an arrogant dick? I don't think so. I hate him _and _those assholes you and Alex work with. We all do. Me and everyone back in the N.Y. and in D.C. would gladly storm the eleventh floor of One Police Plaza on your behalf and kick all their asses. I'm sure Alex would, too."

Alex gave her pork chop a particularly vicious stab, but otherwise said nothing, her face maintaining its impassive mask.

"You're too kind," Bobby said softly, his expression and tone becoming a little distant. "Belligerent, but kind nonetheless."

"Who are they?" Harry asked, thinking of Uncle Bobby's earlier mention of Captain Deakins and becoming deeply annoyed.

"Deakins is the best captain we could ask for, Harry," Bobby said, sensing that thought and feeling compelled to object. "You'll see when you meet him later."

"Well, who, then?" Harry asked, marginally relieved.

"Our coworkers, our fellow detectives," Alex clarified, raising an eyebrow as she looked off in space, clearly remembering something. "Even ADA Carver _respects _Bobby and they've practically come to blows at times over cases."

"Mr. Carver and I have not 'practically come to _blows_,'" Bobby denied calmly, his eyes now alight at the amusing thought. "There may have been yelling, some slamming of hands on desktops, walls, or cabinets, definitely my becoming incredibly annoyed with him and his calm-assed voice telling me what he can't do about subpoenas for our cases, but no fighting or anything of the sort."

"Oh, all right, fine. No fighting, though I think you could totally take him. You're much bigger. And I suppose you two _do _have that love of model cars in common. Half the time I want to schedule a play date for the two of you."

Bobby chuckled, raising an eyebrow at his partner. "Like you can talk. Your whole family is composed of car nuts, yourself included. And I'm not wild about cars so much as the parts that make them. I love taking stuff apart and seeing how it works."

"Yes, well, my _point_ is, even Carver respects you enough to treat you nicely when you two aren't arguing over something. It must be a guy thing. You disagree and five minutes later, you're inviting each other to barbeques."

Bobby shook his head. "I don't barbeque."

"Oh, I'll _bet_," Alex agreed. "But it's still the same thing. Borelli and MacNamara? They've _never _liked you and don't bother to hide it, either. And if I hear someone call you 'Defective Detective' _one more time_--"

"I think you're more upset than I am," Bobby said kindly, moved by her display of displeasure at his mistreatment.

"Probably. No one ever treated me like that in Vice, even though I didn't fit in. I never wanted to go to picnics and birthday parties with the same women who I hung out on street corners with, trying to trap johns. It just...was weird. At MCS, _you're _the weird one."

"I've told you, I...take a little getting used to. I don't mind. You've said yourself that I can't be described. That people kind of just have to be there. Here. Whatever."

Alex smiled fondly, nodding. She understood perfectly.

Hermione, Ron, and the others except for Draco, who had been absent for that particular conversation, gave him knowing smiles and grins. Bobby didn't notice them.

Alex frowned, sighed and threw up her hands. "I wish you wouldn't defend them, but you know what? Fine. Since you're hellbent about being more _civil _about this than I am, I give up. Be nonjudgmental if you want to."

Bobby grinned, finishing his steak and taking a swig of his iced tea. "Thank you. I save all my weirdness for you, anyway. Any excess is purely accidental."

Alex laughed, now sufficiently cheered up. "It better be."

* * *

The wolves are closing in  
There's no room left to make amends  
Do you remember when we'd fly that kite so high?  
All the time we've wasted, spent fighting, will burn in the fire our regrets all the time we've wasted, spent fighting, it's blood and it's running down the stairs  
Freeze the frame between the gunshot and the hole it makes  
A spinning bullet waits in the middle  
There's no way to stop it, it will surely hit the mark  
You can try to understand but I'm giving up

* * *

Late that night, Harry found himself in his pajamas, sitting in the living room of the flat with his two uncles, also in their pajamas, asking them about his grandparents and about their childhoods. 

"So Uncle Bobby's birthday is the 20 August, 1961 and yours, Uncle Nick, is the 14 January, 1956?"

"Yeah. I was born at home, but _Bobby _was born in St. Vincent's Hospital. His first picture was done in a bassinet by a professional with real camera. I, on the other hand, got a Polaroid and some pillows."

"Will you shut up?" Bobby snapped, but he was laughing. "You're acting like you were disenfranchised in some way. Just shut up. And I've seen my first photo. It was nothing special."

"Only because you couldn't stop making those horrible faces. I didn't know babies could be _born _angry, but apparently I was wrong."

Bobby hit him in the head with a throw pillow.

"But I thought being the oldest was cool?" Harry asked, trying to stop laughing long enough to get his breath back. "You got to stay up later and stuff."

"Stay up later for what? So I could watch Dad ignore Mom? So I could watch Mom get frustrated trying to get through his thick skull and convince him that he, in fact, had two sons? That Bobby could hear--and would eventually understand--every assy thing he said? Please. Eventually I just learned to stay in my room. Bobby did that anyway; I should've copied him from the start. I was more outgoing than he was. Still am, but you probably noticed that. Then again, maybe not. He goes on all these dates, after all, with all these gorgeous women who wouldn't have given him the time of day in high school because he was so young."

Harry frowned, then, imagining what Uncle Nick was describing with disturbing ease.

Bobby didn't say anything, simply getting up and going in his bedroom. A moment later, he returned with the magical photo album Harry and Hagrid had given him.

"Harry had Professor Hagrid make this for me," he told Nick quietly. "It's pictures of James, along with his friends, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin. Lily's in here, too. She slapped James across the face once for something he did. There it is," he said, pointing to the picture in question, which Nick watched with relish.

"Ooh, I like her already. Is this Lupin guy anything like Lupin the Third?" Nick asked, examining the pictures with a mystified expression on his face and Bobby snorted, shrugging. Harry, on the other hand, had no idea what the hell they were talking about and told them so.

"_Lupin the Third_ is an old anime show from the eighties," Nick clarified, smirking. "Lupin is a professional thief and has some accomplices, one of whom is a samurai. You can watch it on Adult Swim, which is this late night block of _mature _programming on Cartoon Network."

"Yeah" Bobby agreed, nodding. "That was a good show--though I like _Cold Case_ better--not to mention the newer stuff they have out, like Cowboy Bebop. Not the Jerry Bruckheimer show, _Cold Case_. I've only watched one episode of that, on TNT. I mean the anime with the guy who gets turned back into the child version of himself. And, you know, this whole juvenile association with cartoons has only been a recent thing. They were originally created for adults, particularly as advertisements during drive-in movies in the fifties and sixties. Children have only really been encouraged to watch cartoons in the last decade and a half or so. But speaking of _samurai_, I all of a sudden want to watch _The Last Samurai_."

"Isn't that maniac Tom Cruise in that one? I swear, if anybody needs to be on meds, it's him. Though I hear he's quite happy being Scientology's worst case scenario."

"Yeah, he is," Bobby said in a melancholy way before perking back up. "But the movie is so good, I completely forgot how much of a psychopath he seems to be in real life. Nathan Algren--no, Algren-san, is my favorite character. Oddly enough. I also liked Higen, Nobutada, and Emperor Meiji."

"I liked Ken Wantanabe's character, the head samurai--"

"The _samurai lord, _whose name you can't remember. It's Katsumoto, by the way."

At this revelation, Nick made a face. "Oh, I'm sorry; not all of us have photographic memories and remember everything we've ever been told or seen."

"I don't remember everything I've ever been--"

"You speak Japanese, at any rate."

"Not fluently."

"Not _yet_. Just give it a few more months and you could be a translator for the U.N."

"Why on earth--"

"Or the NYPD. Either one."

"Why would--"

"Because you _could_. It'd pay more, at any rate."

"Alright, you _do _realize I don't render a service for a fee, right? I actually enjoy my job quite a lot and just happen to get paid for it. I know that's a foreign concept for you, but--"

"Shut up, you brainy brat."

"Okay, it's midnight, you three," Alex cut in, frowning at the three of them. "If Nick is done interrupting you, Bobby, I'd appreciate it if we all could get some sleep now."

"Nice pajamas, Alex," Nick complimented, snickering at Alex's Wonder Woman PJs. "Know where I can get some?"

"How about up your ass?" Alex retorted, giving him a saccharine smile that made Bobby nearly choke on the decaffeinated tea he'd made for himself and Harry. "That seems to be where you find a lot of things."

Harry coughed on the last of his own tea and grappled to keep the empty mug from falling to the floor. It fell and shattered to pieces. Blushing, he gave his wand a quick flick and muttered, "_Reparo_," sending the pieces back into their original form. Everyone, it seemed, ignored his slip-up; for which he was grateful.

"You wound me, Alex," Nick pouted, giving her a kicked puppy look. "Whatever could I do--"

"Jump in a lake. Or, better yet, Niagara Falls. Fully clothed. Eat some bird shit and wash it down with uric acid."

"Okay, that's disgusting. Good night Alex, Harry, Nick." Bobby stretched, waving good night to everyone and closing his bedroom door behind him.

"Bobby, your partner hates me," Nick whined as the door shut.

Alex's voice carried through, saying, "I don't hate you--just the ground you walk on."

Chuckling to himself, Bobby climbed into bed and closed his eyes.

* * *

Do you believe  
In what you see  
Motionless wheel  
Nothing is real  
Wasting my time  
In the waiting line  
Do you believe in  
What you see

* * *

**A/N:** Okay, I'm going to end this chapter right here. Hope everyone's enjoying the start of actual shippiness. Again, I had an idea when I was writing this a couple of days ago that's probably going to make you all hate me. The question will be can I carry it out. In fact, I'd like to ask blucougar57's help on that front. If she wants to help me write all the Voldie scenes, etc. I'd be happy to clue her in on my little Torturing!Bobby idea. That is, if she wants to help... 


	14. Let's Go Down into the Darkness…

**Ominous  
**_By Angelfirenze and Blucougar57_

**Disclaimer, etc.:** Duh. ::sigh:: Since I've only just found out about this ridiculous no-lyric rule, there won't be any more. Damn you, Pit of Voles!

**Summary: **Whatever happens, happens. But, I have to say now that there will be **_SPOILERS_** of varying degrees from the entire series. If you haven't finished it and plan to at some point, keep FAR, FAR AWAY. Wait to read the rest of this story after that, please. There. If you ignore that glaring warning, in the words of Mrs. Weasley, on your own head be it.

**Notes:** Um...I'm about to destroy my own fucking premise. Oh yeah, you guys are DEFINITELY going to hate me. blucougar57, too, I'm afraid. Most of what's coming is all her fault...

**Correction: **Okay, last chapter I mentioned an anime I called _Cold Case._ The actual name of the anime is _Case Closed_. My apologies to any _Case Closed _fans out there.

**Dedications:** To blucougar57, who just **_COULDN'T_** bring herself to tell me that this was a bad idea and **_NOT_** to do it. Anyone else up for roasting her on a pyre::grabs flamethrower and slathers pitch on the wood for extra slow burning:: We could have s'mores... To being on Academic Probation—which really wasn't as bad as they make it out to be. Not that I want to _promote _it or anything—and the fact that I'm not on it anymore. Not that any of you care. Oh, yeah, and last but certainly not least, I want to dedicate this to the Evangelical Movement for being as narrow-minded, bigoted, and hateful as can be. ::note sarcasm:: Now, obviously, I read Harry Potter, otherwise this wouldn't be getting written. Apparently, this makes me a devil-worshipper and I'm going to Hell. ::rolls eyes:: I almost want to ask John Constantine to save me from them…did I mention I'm a huge fan of slash? And OT3. ::grins brightly::

**Inspiration:** My own messed up head; **Full Collapse** by Thursday; **The Silence in Black and White **by Hawthorne Heights; **Hot Fuss **by The Killers; **Plans **by Death Cab for Cutie, again; My newest burnt CD, **Mindless Sprawl**, featuring everything from 'Teardrop' by Massive Attack (also known as the theme song to House, M.D.—which is awesome and, yes, this is a shameless plug. All of you, watch House. It's that good. Trust me, smugness and sarcasm were never hotter.) to 'Jesus of Suburbia' by Green Day, from their album, **American Idiot**. Plus, I also have 'NYC' by Interpol, which is mind-blowing. It's from their album, **Turn on the Bright Lights**.There's others, as well, but I'll take up too much space if I list them one by one. ::glows:: Thumbsucker by Walter Kirn, which is probably a damned good movie, as well. I want to cry because VDO is in the movie and I still haven't seen it. Again, my favorite movie, _American Beauty_, which I just rewatched for the umpteenth time; _Constantine_, despite my better judgment; The History Channel; The Discovery Health Channel; um...

Part XIII: Let's Go Down Now Into the Darkness of Your Thoughts

St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries  
London, England  
27 June, 2004  
3:15 pm

Albus Dumbledore strolled up the familiar path to the Long-Term Care ward where he knew Frances Goren was resting for the time being. It had been determined by the Healers that the damage she suffered, while significant, had not been permanent as had been feared. She was under close watch, though, for any more less obvious symptoms that might crop up. Nodding to the three Aurors assigned to her guard, he continued through the swinging doors to find Frances sitting up in her bed, reading a Muggle book he guessed she could have received from either of her sons in Owl Post this morning. She looked up and smiled a bit when she saw who it was.

"Albus, how are you?"

"That is a question I think I would ask you, instead, Frances. I see you are doing well, all things considered."

He frowned as he watched the small smile slip from Frances' tired face, her body beginning to shudder almost unnoticeably.

"You certainly didn't come here to make small talk, Albus. Please get to the point." Her voice had become slightly colder, a change in manner he couldn't hold against her, particularly considering what he'd come to request.

The older man sighed heavily, and sat in the chair Bobby had left at the end of her bed, secretly wishing this were not necessary. "I need to request permission to inform your youngest son of—"

"No."

It took everything Dumbledore had not to break eye contact with Frances Goren when she replied with the answer he had already known she would give. The younger woman's grey eyes had filled with tears of anguish but Dumbledore knew she would consider it condescension if he offered her a handkerchief. He respected her and her ordeal too much to insult her in such a way.

Blinking away the anguish she felt, Frances sat up higher in bed and folded her hands in her lap. "You would like to tell my son that he is not his father's child, but the son of the mass murderer who raped me for the sole purpose of spawning an heir? You would do that to him?"

"His life is in danger, Frances," Albus objected quietly, waiting for the brush-off he knew was coming.

"Robert is a New York City Detective, Albus. He is in danger every single day. I've learned to live with that, to be proud of him, to appreciate his ability to take care of himself. It wasn't as though I was allowed to care for him..." And a tear slipped down her cheek, despite her best efforts at holding them back.

"_Your _life is in danger," Albus countered, trying to get her to see his point. "It pains Bobby far more to know that you were used as merely a device to get to him. He doesn't know why. He _deserves _to know why all this is happening."

"Harry _deserved_ to know. But that didn't stop you hiding the truth from him for five years. _Or_ leaving him with those Dursley people. You had no right, Albus, playing with Harry's life like that, and you have no right to accuse me of doing the same. My son had a father. A father who loved him, despite everything. Despite the fact that he knew Robert was not his child. Despite the fact that simply having Robert in our home put us all in danger. And you cannot pretend that Lord Voldemort would have meant Robert good will, either."

"No, I cannot, Frances, but all the same..." Albus sighed, his eyes and face drawn and miserable. "Robert needs to know that Voldemort wants him. He needs to be prepared, should the unthinkable happen. What would happen if he were to be taken from Hogwarts? The castle is not a fortress. It is only a matter of time before Robert comes into contact with the man who is responsible--"

"Lord Voldemort is not a man, Albus, and don't you dare refer to him as one. A man did not do what that monster did to me. He felt it a-a—" And for the first time, her composure faltered. "A _personal slight_ that I would rather marry Anthony than him. Whether I wanted any part of it was never given any consideration, not by him. Certainly not by my father, who thought it perfectly wonderful to marry off his eldest daughter to the astounding Tom Riddle, who showed so much promise. He was certain that Tom would end up Minister of Magic, that he would be rewarded for his loyalty with a lofty job in the Ministry himself. Still, even when that was proven so horribly false, he preferred that I marry Lord Voldemort, the mass murderer, than a _muggle_—"

The bitterness in her voice was quite apparent and Albus took a deep breath.

"Frances, you understand that if I felt it in Robert's best interest, I would never oblige him of his true parentage. However, you and I both know that something is being planned, for both Robert and Harry, and in order to best prepare a defense of themselves, they need to know everything. I learned my lesson when Harry was lured off to the Ministry of Magic earlier this year. Sirius is dead because I didn't tell Harry everything he needed to know. If I had, he _never _would have gone flying off to the Ministry to save him. He would have known instantly that Sirius was safe in Grimmauld Place and that Lord Voldemort was merely trying to deceive him."

Frances watched, trying to breathe past the lump in her throat, as Albus finally broke his gaze with her. The older man's hands came up to cover his face, his breath coming in slow, deliberate pulls. He was trying to restrain himself in her presence and, all in the same instant, she both hated and admired his attempt to hold himself together in spite of the obvious guilt and horror he felt at his actions.

"Albus," Frances said, drawing his gaze once she had calmed down. "Please. Don't let him leave. Robert will try to separate himself from Harry in some misguided attempt to protect him. You must not let him leave the castle. And you must not let him hurt himself."

Albus nodded, standing and coming forward to take Frances' hand. "I swear on my life that I will try to protect Robert both from Voldemort as well as himself. You have my word."

"I know," Frances said quietly, and with that Dumbledore turned to leave.

* * *

Dumbledore arrived back in Hogsmeade, engulfed by an unpleasant mix of relief and anxiety. Relief that Frances had finally, if extremely reluctantly, given him permission to tell Bobby the truth about his heritage, and anxiety in trying to decide what to tell him, and how. 

Ah yes, the truth was indeed a very sticky, complicated affair. He could honestly say with absolute certainty that he had not the slightest idea how the detective would react. Not well, that was obvious.

Oh, he could try to imagine, and his imagination envisaged Bobby going into a complete state of shock to learn that he was, in truth, the illegitimate child of the most vicious mass murderer the wizarding world had ever known. Dumbledore strongly suspected, though, that his imagination was not doing justice to how Bobby was likely to react.

On impulse, Dumbledore diverted from the path which led back to Hogwarts, and instead turned towards his brother's pub. He had a sudden desire for a pint of butter beer before returning to the castle. It was unlikely to do anything to calm him anxieties, or give divine guidance on how to break this new revelation to Bobby, but it was a good reason to stall his return to the school.

He was almost to the door when a hooded and cloaked figure stepped into his line of sight. His hand was on his wand and an incantation was on his lips almost before he recognised the one who had intercepted him.

"Remus? My dear friend, you really ought to know better than to startle an old man like that."

Remus Lupin said nothing, but urged Dumbledore into the pub, and from there into a booth in a dark corner that was far removed from the main crowd of patrons.

"What is the problem, Remus?" Dumbledore asked once they were seated. Lupin took a long moment to peer around the pub, assuring himself there were no unfriendly eyes watching them, before looking back at Dumbledore grimly.

"I was asked to come here to warn you, Albus. Death Eaters have been sighted in this area. It's believed that they're watching Hogwarts, but we don't know why. I don't suppose you'd have any idea?"

Dumbledore regarded Lupin thoughtfully for nearly a full minute before responding in a low voice that even Lupin had to strain to hear.

"We're conducting special classes for a small group of students, Remus."

Lupin blinked at the short, vague reply.

"Is Harry there at the castle?"

"Yes," Dumbledore confirmed. "He is, and so are his friends. However, I suspect that we may find that it is not Harry who is the prime focus in this instance."

"But you know who might be," Lupin pressed. Dumbledore smiled ruefully.

"I'm sorry, Remus. I can't explain it to you, nor to any of the other Order members. Not yet."

Lupin sighed softly.

"I understand, Albus, but I need to warn you. It isn't safe at the moment, especially not for untrained wizards. Anyone seen leaving the castle is going to be a potential target for the Death Eaters. Whoever it is that you have up there, with Harry and the other children, I suggest very strongly that you don't let them leave the safety of the castle. Do you understand me, Albus? Don't let them leave, not for any reason."

Dumbledore nodded in grim understanding. Yes, he understood. It appeared their guests would be staying on at Hogwarts for a while longer.

Professor McGonagall was there to greet Dumbledore upon his return to the castle. "I believe Detective Goren's brother and his family are just about ready to return home, Headmaster," she informed him, quietly glad to finally see the back of the apparent Muggle invasion of the castle. Now, if only it meant getting rid of the detective's female partner into the bargain…

"I'm afraid there's been a change of plan, Minerva," Dumbledore told her. "I've been warned that Death Eaters are on the prowl around Hogwarts and Hogsmeade. Our guests will be staying rather longer than we anticipated."

"Death Eaters?" McGonagall echoed in horror. "What are they doing here? You don't think they're after Harry…?"

"This time? Dumbledore murmured. "No."

"You mean… They might be after Detective Goren?"

Dumbledore answered with a single nod.

"I do believe that Bobby could be the target this time. He has the potential to be a powerful wizard, Minerva. That will not have gone unnoticed by Voldemort. The Death Eaters will be searching for him, whether or not they have been made fully aware of who he is. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must pass on the warning that none of our guests… or our students, for that matter… are to leave the castle and its grounds."

"But Albus," McGonagall whispered, her face pale with fear. "Potter, Detective Goren and Detective Eames went for a walk to Hogsmeade not one hour ago."

"Find Severus," Dumbledore told her urgently. "Tell him to join me in the village. I'm going back to find them. Minerva, please ensure that no one else leaves the castle."

McGonagall nodded her acquiescence, and hurried away up the staircase to do as she'd been asked. She paused for just a brief moment to look back as she reached the top of the grand staircase, and was not the least bit surprised to find that Dumbledore was already gone.

* * *

Shrieking Shack  
Hogsmeade Village  
Highlands, Scotland  
1:12 pm 

"So that's the infamous Shrieking Shack."

Harry smirked a little at Alex's tone. He couldn't blame her, though. Knowing the true reason behind the shack's reputation _did_ take a little bit of the edge off the place's perceived creepiness. Bobby leaned against a fence post, peering through the gathering mist at the dilapidated structure.

"That's where you found out the truth about Sirius, and Peter Pettigrew," Bobby said in a considerably more sombre tone. Harry glanced first at Bobby, and then at Alex just in time to catch her rolling her eyes in exasperation. He looked away quickly, covering his mouth to avoid laughing.

"Think you could be any more depressing, Bobby?" Alex asked bluntly. He looked at her, genuinely puzzled.

"All I said was…"

"I know what you said. It isn't what you said, it's _how_ you said it. Lighten up a little! Anthony will be ready to leave by the time we get back, your mom is safe at St Mungo's, and then it'll just be you, me and the Junior Wizards-R-Us."

It was Bobby's turn to roll his eyes, but he couldn't hide the smile that found its way onto his lips.

"Funny, Alex."

"I thought so.

"We can go in there, if you like," Harry offered, motioning to the gap in the fence.

"Thanks, but no thanks," Alex said wryly. "As much as I love crawling through dingy places that have about fifty years of dust layered up. I get enough of that when we're working, with bright boy here dragging me after him."

Bobby looked at her incredulously.

"When have I ever dragged you through… _dingy_ places, layered with dust?"

"Dan Feist's killing room," Alex stated bluntly, and Bobby went red with embarrassment at the memory.

"Killing room…?" Harry asked, his curiosity piqued. Alex shook her head, silently kicking herself for bringing it up. It was all too easy to forget that Harry was only a teenager.

"Never mind, Harry--forget I said anything. Anyway, I can think of better places to spend a date."

Again, Bobby went red as he was abruptly reminded of the reason they had slipped out of the castle grounds to begin with. His gaze flickered nervously to Alex who, in return, smiled at him with warm encouragement.

Now, she thought, if there were some way to ditch Harry for just a short while…

"There's a little culvert just through those trees," Harry said suddenly, quietly delighting in the way that both Bobby and Alex went red at the inference. "It's pretty warm and comfortable in weather like this."

The two detectives looked at one another wordlessly. Though neither spoke, it was only too clear what was on their minds. Harry motioned vaguely towards the Shrieking Shack.

"I'll be having a look around the Shrieking Shack…. If you're looking for me, that is…"

Without saying another word, Harry dutifully walked away from Alex and his uncle, deciding it was time to leave them alone to do whatever it was they planned on doing for this impromptu date. He relished, however, the fact that Uncle Bobby now surely owed him a great deal for the favor his nephew had done for him. All Harry planned on asking, however, was that the two detectives give him the same amount of discretion he gave them when it came to himself, Ron, and Hermione. He had a feeling they would. It was only courtesy, after all. Not to mention, there was the fact that _technically_they shouldn't have been doing what they were doing, either.

Harry smiled wryly to himself as he paused halfway along the path to the Shrieking Shack to look back over his shoulder. He was just in time to see Bobby and Alex disappear through the trees, heading for the culvert that Harry had mentioned.

His grin widened. Mission accomplished. Still grinning, he continued on his way towards the Shrieking Shack.

"That was slick," Alex commented as Bobby led her through the trees. "He can be as manipulative as you, Bobby."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

They came into the culvert abruptly, and found themselves surrounded by soft green grass, and warm sunlight. After looking around appreciatively, Bobby turned to face Alex, and wasn't sure whether to be unnerved or not to find her staring at him intently. Very, _very_ intently.

"So what are you going to do now?" she asked, reaching up to trace an invisible line down his cheek and along his jaw. A grin lit up Bobby's features as he guided her body down to the soft grass.

"Well, I know what I'm _not_ going to do," he murmured, his lips brushing lightly over hers.

"Mmm?" Alex murmured. "What's that?"

"Play nice."

* * *

Harry sighed faintly as he made his way around perimeter of the Shrieking Shack. He half-wished he'd thought to ask Hermione to come along. Then, at least, he might not have been quite so bored. His biggest problem right then, though, was knowing just how long to give his uncle. Technically, they weren't supposed to be outside the castle grounds without a fully-trained wizard to chaperone, and Harry figured their window of opportunity (no pun intended) was probably extremely limited. 

He just hoped that Uncle Bobby knew how to keep it short and sweet… whatever it was that he was up to.

A shiver passed through him, and he pulled his jacket more tightly around his shoulders. Despite the bright sun, the weather had suddenly turned bitingly cold. He shuddered, feeling his mood shift along with the sudden change of temperature.

If he didn't know any better, he could have sworn there were Dementors around…

Harry's breath caught in his throat as horrified realisation struck. No… No way…

He looked up slowly, dreading what he would see. At first, there was nothing. Then, his gaze went to the sky above the trees where Uncle Bobby and Alex had disappeared. And there they were, circling high above the treetops, descending in lazy, ominous circles. Dementors… There were at least a dozen of them, if not more.

His heart in his throat, Harry took off at a run for the trees.

* * *

Alex shifted a little beneath Bobby, arching her body against his as his lips teased over hers. She felt rather than heard him chuckle, and would have swatted him if not for the fact that he had her wrists pinned. 

"Mm… Bobby…"

"What?"

"Let go of my hands…"

He released her immediately, his head coming up to look at her in sudden concern.

"I didn't… didn't hurt you… did I?"

She smiled as seductively at him as she could, and took the opportunity to slip her hands underneath his robes, one hand sliding up underneath his shirt to caress his bare back, and the other tugging open the fly of his jeans and slipping inside to stroke his hardening length.

Bobby groaned aloud.

"Alex…"

"So what are you going to do about it?" she purred. A moment later, she gasped as he rolled over onto his back, so that she was straddling his stomach. His hands reached up, tugging her tank top loose from her pants, and sliding up underneath. The tips of his fingers brushed lightly against the undersides of her breasts, enough to tease but not enough to satisfy her growing desire to have his hands on her body. In retaliation, she curled her fingers around his length and tightened her grip fractionally. Bobby gasped at her touch, his hips bucking upwards involuntarily.

"Alex, I've gotta warn you… If you don't stop, I don't think I'll be able to turn it off…"

She smiled at him, a new heat in her eyes that he had never seen before. Leaning down, she kissed him firmly on the mouth, letting her tongue trace a path lightly over his lips.

"Who says I want you to?"

Bobby's eyes glazed over slightly, and his pushed hands further up her body, and he groaned again as his hands closed over two small but perfect mounds, free from the confines of a bra.

"Shameless," Bobby rumbled as his thumbs grazed her nipples, causing them to harden. "No bra…"

"Call me hopeful," Alex panted. She planted her hands firmly on his chest, and rocked back and forth, grinding herself against his erection.

Deciding that they both had far too many clothes on, Bobby reluctantly withdrew his hands from underneath her top, intent on divesting Alex of her panties. His hands were just reaching for the zip of her jeans when he froze.

"Wha… What is it?" Alex mumbled, disappointed at the sudden lack of physical contact.

When he didn't reply, she pulled herself out of her daze and looked properly at him. The look on his face immediately doused any and all passion she had been feeling. The look on his face was one of sudden, pure terror.

She looked up slowly, following his gaze with growing trepidation and, a moment later, she saw what he had seen.

Descending towards them from the sky above were creatures that looked as though they could have given the Ringwraiths from _The Lord of the Rings_ a run for their money. The threat from this strange-looking creatures was all too apparent, and the closer they got, the worse Bobby and Alex felt.

"Dementors…" Bobby said hoarsely, and the fear in his voice was enough to drive Alex to her feet and rip her gun out of its holster. Bobby was on his feet an instant later, having the mind to zip up his pants beneath his robes before grabbing Alex and driving her towards the trees. "Your gun won't do anything. Just run! We have to find Harry!"

Alex ran. Or, rather, tried to. All of a sudden, her legs locked together, and she went down with a painful crash. Bobby landed on the grass beside her, the victim of the same problem. Grunting, Alex rolled over to see what was keeping her from getting up again, but there was nothing. Her legs were locked together, completely frozen, for no apparent reason.

She looked at Bobby, and he looked back at her with genuine fear and borderline panic in his eyes. Unlike with her, it was not merely his legs that were frozen; it was his entire body. He couldn't move, couldn't speak… He was completely helpless.

A moment later, the Dementors converged, surrounding the two of them completely.

Alex felt her breath being almost literally sucked away, along with every shred of the happiness she had felt only minutes previous, and she finally understood how Dudley had been so devastated by the touch of the Dementors, to the point of being near death.

She reached once more for her gun, only to cry out as one of the Dementors struck her. She collapsed to the ground, cold and helpless. She looked at Bobby again, and saw the Dementors were diving in again, and again, draining him with merciless precision.

"_Expecto patronum!_"

A blinding light flared from somewhere behind them, enveloping them in a strange warmth, and driving the Dementors away. A shining creature came into her line of sight… was that a stag…? and galloped around her and Bobby, creating a shield between them and the Dementors. The Dementors were driven further and further back, until suddenly…

"_Crucio!_"

Suddenly, the protective light was gone, and Alex heard a heavy thud behind them, followed by a strangled scream of pain.

The Dementors converged once more, and the last thing Alex saw before losing consciousness was a tall, dark figure standing over her, smiling evilly.

Then, there was nothing.

* * *

Dumbledore was joined by Snape halfway to Hogsmeade. 

"Just like Potter," he was ranting angrily. "No regard for the rules, even when they're in place for his protection…"

"We'll concern ourselves with the issue of rule-breaking later, Severus," Dumbledore told him. "Right now, let us just find them, and bring them safely back to the castle."

Snape spotted the disturbance first, and pointed towards the woods.

"Headmaster, over there. Dementors…"

Dumbledore looked, and flew away across the grass, at a speed that belied his age and apparently frailty. Shaking his head in exasperation, Snape followed.

As they neared the trees, there was a flare of light that drove all of the Dementors into the sky, away from their apparent targets. Then, a deep voice thundered, "_Crucio_!", and the Patronus light vanished, like a candle that had been snuffed out.

A scream of pain broke the silence as the Dementors descended once more, followed by someone's cruel laughter.

Dumbledore ran, already chanting incantations of protection, with Snape right behind him with his wand drawn and ready to use.

They stumbled into the clearing together to find nothing, except…

"Headmaster, over here," Snape said tersely. Dumbledore strode over to see what Snape had found, and felt his heart sink a moment later.

Lying abandoned on the ground were two wands, and two police issue automatic weapons, but Harry, Bobby and Alex were gone.

* * *

Black Mansion  
Twelve Grimmauld Place  
London, England  
7:17pm 

Alex awoke to pain and nausea. She groaned softly and lifted one hand to shield her eyes from the invasion of light, even though there was barely enough light to see through the darkness. Her head was spinning and her stomach was rolling. But for the icy cold feeling that penetrated her body, she felt exactly like she had after she'd given birth to her nephew.

Slowly, reluctantly accepting that fact that she was awake, Alex forced her eyes open. She couldn't make much of her surroundings. As near as she could tell, she was lying on a bed with a painfully thin mattress beneath her, in a room that was little more than four cramped-looking walls.

She shuddered. Alex was not claustrophobic by any stretch of the imagination, but this room was way too small for her liking.

She was just about to try willing herself back to sleep when a familiar voice broke through into her consciousness.

"Alex. Alex, will you wake up?"

"I'm awake," she grumbled, at the same time fervently wishing she weren't.

"Alex, it's me. Harry."

Her eyes snapped open again, her attention well and truly grabbed by the urgency in his voice.

"Harry? Damn… What the hell happened? And where are we? This isn't the castle, is it?"

"No, it's not. Listen to me, Alex. We're in big trouble. You and Uncle Bobby were attacked by Dementors. I tried to drive them away, but there were Death Eaters there. One of them used the Cruciatus curse on me."

Immediately, deep concern filled Alex's eyes.

"Are you okay?"

"I'll be fine. Whoever used it on me didn't hold it for very long. It's nothing that won't wear off."

"Hang on… I need to sit up." Groaning softly, Alex pushed herself up into a sitting position with Harry's help. "Okay. So let me get this straight. We've been captured by Death Eaters?"

Harry nodded wordlessly, and Alex didn't have to look far to see the fear that lit his eyes.

"And they're followers of Voldemort?"

"Right."

"So, where the hell are we, and how did we get here?"

"We're in the Black Mansion—they locked me in Fred and George's room while I was unconscious, but I picked the lock--and we got here either with a Portkey, or by Apparating. If it was a Portkey, then if we can find it, it should transport us back to where we left from."

"The forest near the Shrieking Shack, you mean."

Harry nodded again. "Right."

Alex hesitated, staring at Harry and feeling increasingly disturbed by the look of fear and trepidation on his young face.

"Harry… Where's Bobby?"

Harry grew pale and turned to look at the doorway he'd carefully locked behind them, thinking futilely all the while that it'd be no use if they really wanted to get in. "He wasn't with me when I woke up. I think they took him somewhere else in the house. Maybe the Drawing Room or somewhere..."

Harry got to his feet and Alex noted that he forcefully held back a wince before reaching a hand out to help her up, as well. She bit back her own groan. It felt as though every bone and joint in her body had been slept on the 'wrong way'. Taking a few deep breaths, she took hold of Harry's hand and together they stepped out onto the landing that was so familiar to Harry. He closed his eyes for a moment, half expecting to see Sirius suddenly burst out of one of the room, and held back another shudder. Faintly, he registered Alex rubbing his shoulder and saying something, though he couldn't tell what. After a few moments, Harry nodded and they began to move as silently as they could down through the house.

They made their way slowly along the hallway, taking extra care to be as quiet as possible, even though there literally seemed to be no one around.

"They took my wand off me," Harry said by way of explanation when Alex commented on the lack of guards monitoring their captivity. "It was left behind along with Uncle Bobby's wand, and both of your guns. I guess they figure we're no threat to them without wands or weapons."

"Oh yeah?" Alex growled. "Put me within arm's length of any of the bastards, and I'll show them how harmless I am."

Harry smiled despite their grim situation. With that sort of attitude, he wasn't surprised that Alex was a highly effective cop, and he could easily understand why his uncle had so much respect for her.

Voices reached them, and Harry slowed to a halt. Not saying a word, he pointed to a cupboard built into the hallway wall. Alex looked puzzled, but followed unquestioningly when he opened the doors and slipped inside. To her surprise, the cupboard did not have a solid back, but rather formed another cupboard which opened out into a room on the other side.

Shaking off her surprise, Alex pushed the doors open a fraction, and then a fraction more, until she found what she was looking for. There, lying on the floor in a shuddering, helpless heap was Bobby. He was surrounded on one side by a half-circle of hooded figures with wands brandished, one pointing in Bobby's general direction. Their faces were all covered with white masks, their outfits black with red stripes on the sleeves. Alex was suddenly strongly and repulsively reminded of the Ku Klux Klan.

For a few seconds, it took all the willpower Alex had not to simply throw open the doors and rush to her partner's side. To do so would quite conceivably result in all their deaths, and that was a risk that she just couldn't take.

Feeling sick to her stomach, she crouched down behind the doors of the cupboard, and waited.

* * *

Bobby shut his eyes tightly, willing himself not to throw up. He'd read all about the Cruciatus curse in several books, but the descriptions of its effects simply didn't do justice to the absolute agony of actually experiencing it first-hand. Now he _had_ experienced it, and he felt that he could honestly say that he would have been quite happy to have stayed ignorant. 

A tall figure came to stand over him, poking at him roughly with one bare, grimy foot before crouching down beside him.

"I know what you were doing."

The blast of hot, putrid breath right in his face did nothing for Bobby's efforts to avoid being sick. He opened his eyes a little, intent on telling his latest tormentor to fuck off, when he found himself staring at a pair of feral yellow eyes that belonged to an even more feral-looking face.

Fenrir smiled then, revealing a mouth full of sharp, yellowing teeth. Teeth, Bobby realised with numb horror, that had been used to rip people apart, and tear their throats out. He was staring at a werewolf…

"I know what you were doing," Fenrir repeated, cruel delight lighting up his eyes. "With your lady friend. I was watching you. She's a pretty thing. Perhaps I'll pay her a visit when I'm done with you. Do you think she'd like me? I like to play rough, just like you…"

Somewhere, in a dark corner of Bobby's mind, he understood that Fenrir was only baiting him, trying to goad him into reacting, but Bobby was beyond caring. Rage exploded through him at the thought that this monster might even look at Alex, let alone touch her, and he lunged upwards at the werewolf, despite the slowly diminishing pain of the Cruciatus curse.

"_Crucio!_"

Bobby screamed in agony, and his body curled into a tight ball as he was hit anew by the curse. Wracked with pain, he writhed on the floor, but somehow found the strength not to beg for release from the pain. Whatever these bastards did to him, he would not give them the satisfaction of reducing him to begging.

By the time the curse was finally lifted from him, he had no more strength left to put up a fight, or to even vocalise his protests. Therefore, when Fenrir crawled over the top of him, all he could do was lie there, helpless and vulnerable.

Fenrir didn't speak. He didn't need to. His evil intent was only too clear, both to Bobby who lay weakly on the floor and to Alex and Harry as they watched in growing horror from their hiding place inside the cupboard.

Sneering evilly, Fenrir slowly pulled open Bobby's robes and, with a swipe of his long, sharp nails, reduced the front of Bobby's shirt to shreds, at the same time leaving four long, shallow gouges in his flesh. Bobby groaned in pain, but had no strength to struggle. He continued to lie there, unable to fight the coming assault.

Leaning down, Fenrir dragged his rough tongue over the fresh wounds, lapping at the blood that spilled from them. Inside the cupboard, Harry barely stifled a gasp of horror. He recognised Fenrir for what he was, and knew what could potentially happen to his uncle if the werewolf's saliva mixed with Bobby's blood.

Still grinning insanely, Fenrir moved further down Bobby's body, and used his long fingers to undo Bobby's jeans with a delicacy that belied his cruelty. Bobby stiffened a little as he suddenly realised what was going on, but he still had no ability to fight – and even if he had, it would have done him no good. For the first time, Bobby noticed the robed and masked figures that stood around in a half-circle, watching the scene before them in silence. Bobby had had no doubt that it had been one of them to apply the Cruciatus curse to him, and that they would do so again if he tried to fight.

His jeans were swiftly yanked down to his knees, followed by his boxer shorts, leaving him exposed and more vulnerable than he'd ever been in his entire life. One clawed hand curled around his length, at first stroking gently, and Bobby cursed his body for its automatic and instinctive response. Fenrir chuckled softly, cruelly.

"You like that, don't you?"

"_Fuck you_," Bobby whispered in a barely audible voice. Fenrir's grin widened.

"No, not me. _You_."

And then he squeezed, hard.

The scream that erupted from Bobby's mouth was horrific, and left both Alex and Harry crying silent tears and vowing revenge at any cost. The observing Death Eaters only laughed, amused by their companion's methods of terrorising their captive.

"Be nice to me now," Fenrir hissed. "Maybe I'll make you feel good. Would you like that? I think you would."

He'd returned to stroking Bobby's length with a practised hand, dipping his head occasionally to run his tongue over the head. Bobby groaned, shutting his eyes and trying hard to block out what was happening.

One long finger slipped down behind his balls, and pushed into his rectum, the jagged nail scraping and tearing open his passage. A miserable sob escaped Bobby, and he prayed that someone would soon see fit to end the torment that he was suffering.

"_Crucio!_"

Bobby heard the word uttered in a silky voice that hid a deeper level of malevolence than Bobby had ever encountered before, but it took several seconds for it to register that it was not him who was suffering the effects of the curse, but Fenrir.

Dazed, Bobby managed to lift his head long enough to note two things. Firstly, the werewolf was writhing on the floor in sheer agony, dog-like howls of pain issuing from his lips. Secondly, all the Death Eaters who had been standing watching his torment had suddenly moved right back out of the way, their heads bowed low.

Shuddering, Bobby's head lolled back. His relief at the end to his torment was short-lived, though, as his senses picked up on the pure evil that pervaded the room. Evil that was focused very much towards him.

Fenrir's howls had ceased, telling Bobby that whoever this newcomer was, he had lifted the curse from the werewolf.

"You simpering moron," the voice hissed. "Did I say you had permission to interfere with him? How dare you touch him? Now, dress him again, and do not even _think_ of interfering with him in any way."

Sullen and clearly in pain, Fenrir crawled back over to Bobby, and pulled his boxer shorts and jeans back up, and pulled his robes closed once more.

"Now lift him off the floor. Seat him there, _carefully_."

Bobby felt himself being lifted up and dragged a couple of metres across the floor, and deposited carefully in a large, comfortable armchair. His head rolled back against the soft cushioned headrest, and it was then that he finally got a look at the newcomer.

Any unwanted physical responses Bobby had had from Fenrir's ministrations were effectively quashed as he found himself face to a face with a figure who looked more like a snake than a man. Red eyes burned into him, burned _through_ him, leaving Bobby breathless with fear. But still, he had no strength to move, still recovering as he was from the shock and pain of the Cruciatus curse.

"Who tortured him?" Voldemort demanded to know, looking around at the Death Eaters. "Answer me!"

One cloaked figure stepped forward, and Voldemort hissed with rage.

"Lucius. I should have known."

"Forgive me, my lord," Lucius Malfoy pleaded. "He attempted to fight. I was merely trying to subdue him…"

"Harm him again," Voldemort snarled, "and I will kill you. Now, leave us. All of you."

Slowly, the Death Eaters filed out, until it was only Voldemort and Bobby left in the room.

"Do you know who I am?" Voldemort asked as he sat down in a chair immediately opposite Bobby.

"_Voldemort_," Bobby whispered, the word escaping his lips on the breath of a shuddering sigh.

"That's right," Voldemort murmured. "I expect you're curious to know why my interest is in you, and not young Potter. Well, Potter has served his purpose, for the moment. It is thanks to him that I have a physical body again. Rather appropriate, considering that it was he who was responsible for me losing my powers and my body to begin with. Still… That is not the issue. I shall deal with Harry once we have had our little… discussion."

"_What… What do you want_?" Bobby asked, struggling to make himself heard.

"What do I want? I want for you to know the truth. For you to understand your heritage. You have no idea who you really are, do you… Stephen."

Bobby struggled to swallow before speaking again.

"_Name's_…_ Robert._"

"That is the name your mother gave you," Voldemort snapped. "Your name should have been Stephen, and you should have been her first-born. But instead, she condemned you to a life of squalor, living with a man who had no right claim to you as his son."

Bobby felt an icy cold wave of panic sweep through his prostrate body as the meaning of Voldemort's words began to sink into his exhausted mind.

_No_…_No fucking way_…

Voldemort smiled, easily picking up on Bobby's panicked thoughts.

"That's right. The man you believed to be your father was, in fact, _not_. Your mother was betrothed to me, but she betrayed the family, she betrayed me, and instead married another and attempted to escape me by living the life of a muggle. But I found her. She had already defiled herself and had a child by then, making her useless to me, but I chose to torment her regardless. I took her one night, and she bore me a child. That child is you, Stephen. _You_ are my son."

Bobby felt truly sick. Surely… _Surely_ it wasn't true…? But even as he sat there, slumped and helpless, he knew that it was. _Fuck_, he thought numbly. _I feel like I'm Luke fucking Skywalker and he's Darth Vader_…

Voldemort watched him with a piercing stare.

"You have a great power within you that is finally awakening, son, and I've no doubt that you've felt the presence of power within yourself for a long time. I can teach you to use it, and you will be second only to me. I want you at my side, Stephen, where you belong."

_You sick, murdering bastard_, Bobby thought, and Voldemort's eyes narrowed.

"Do not reject me without thoroughly considering my offer, I warn you. You may hold little regard for your own life, but what about the muggle woman we took along with you and young Harry? Does her life mean so little to you?"

Anger flashed across Bobby's face. He'd since given up trying to communicate verbally, since Voldemort seemed to be able to hear his thoughts anyway.

_Fuck you. Leave her out of this._

"Oh, but I cannot, my son. She's in it up to her neck. And I promise that if you reject me now, she will be the first to die, and it will be a more horrible death than you could possibly imagine."

Voldemort rose up out of the chair and, leaning forward, reached out to touch his fingertips to Bobby's forehead.

"I do not care for you. I cannot and will never love you. But I crave the power that you hold, and as long as you are willing to submit to me I can promise you greatness unlike anything you have ever known. The entire world will know and fear you, the son of Lord Voldemort." Voldemort's eyes glowed blood red. "Do not hasten your suffering by rejecting me, boy. The pain you experienced earlier by the hand of my follower is nothing compared to the pain that I will make you suffer if you do decide to take the path of foolishness."

Bobby shuddered again, his mind reeling. He didn't want to believe it. He was desperate to be able to deny what he'd just been told, but he knew deep within himself that it was the truth. A thousand questions spun through his mind, the most pre-dominant of which was why had Dumbledore not told him? Surely he knew…?

Slowly, very slowly, his gaze focused on the evil wizard that towered above him. And he knew. He knew in an instant that, no matter what the cost, he could never align himself with this monster. Alex would never forgive him for selling out, and he would never be able to forgive himself.

He opened his mouth to speak, and felt blood trickle down his chin in a thin line. Voldemort leaned in closer, anticipation written all over his hideous features.

"_N_… _No fucking way in_…_in hell_…"

Rage filled Voldemort's face as he drew back from Bobby.

"You fool. You stupid, ignorant fool. You would seriously sacrifice the chance to live as one of the most powerful wizards in this world… for what? For the love of some muggle whore? I could give you immortality, and instead you choose death! I did not expect an easy conversion, but nor did I expect such an act of complete and utter stupidity!"

Voldemort's voice quickly rose to a furious shout as he ranted at Bobby. Bobby, however, turned his face away and closed his eyes. If he couldn't shut out Voldemort's voice, then he could at least shut out the sight of him.

_Alex, forgive me. I love you so much, please forgive me_…

"Do you really believe she will forgive you for the pain I am going to inflict on her because of you?" Voldemort snarled. "You ungrateful bastard! _Crucio_!"

Yet another scream tore from Bobby's lips as Voldemort, in his fury, unleashed the powerful Cruciatus curse on Bobby once more. He twisted in the chair, his body instinctively fighting against the debilitating agony that rolled through his body in waves.

Voldemort hovered over the top of him, wand pointing directly downwards and moving subtly from side to side, changing the source of the pain, and he spoke in a furious hiss even as Bobby writhed in agony.

"I shall see you suffer like no other, my precious son. You will know a pain so great that you will beg me to kill you. But I will not oblige. You are going to _suffer_. You will see all those whom you love die before you, and even then I will not end your life. You will know nothing but pain. I will draw your life out to the very last breath so that pain is all you know. You will regret your rejection of me to your dying moment, and beyond!"

Abruptly, he released Bobby from the curse, and the detective slumped down in the chair, his mouth red with his own blood. There was no conscious awareness in his eyes whatsoever. He was awake, yet not awake.

Sneering evilly, Voldemort spun on his heel and strode from the room.

* * *

Signalling Harry to stay put, Alex slipped out of the cupboard and over to the door. She listened carefully for a long moment before wheeling around and running over to where Bobby sat. Assuming the coast was clear for the moment, at least, Harry scrambled out of the cupboard and hurried over as well. 

"Bobby? C'mon, Bobby, don't do this to me," Alex murmured desperately as she patted his cheek in desperate bid to wake him up.

"Just like Neville's mum and dad," Harry whispered in dismay as he stared up into his uncle's unseeing eyes. He elaborated when Alex threw him a confused look.

"The Longbottoms were Aurors. They were tortured using the Cruciatus curse. It… It snapped their minds, drove them both insane."

"That is _not_ happening to Bobby," Alex hissed and, in a moment of pure frustration and panic, grabbed Bobby's shoulders and shook him violently. "Goddamn you, Goren, snap out of it!"

Bobby's eyes fluttered, and slowly the glazed, blank look in his eyes evaporated and his gaze focused on her.

"_Al…_"

"Yes, it's me," she murmured, caressing his face in a tender gesture. "Can you get up? We have to get out of here."

Her words took a moment to register, and when they did he responded with a sluggish attempt at shifting his large frame off the chair. It was a pointless effort. He had little, if any, coordination, and virtually no strength left to support himself.

"What do we do?" Harry asked, starting to sound a little panicked himself. "We can't lift him, he's too heavy for us!"

Alex stared at Bobby's pain-riddled features, anxiously wracking her mind for an answer. She was so wrapped up in trying to think of a solution to their problem that she barely noticed the mixed sensation of being expanded and compressed at the same time, that momentarily overtook her. It wasn't until she heard the startled gasp behind her that she became aware that they were no longer in the same room.

"What the…?"

"We just Apparated," Harry whispered, his eyes wide with shock. Alex looked at him sharply, but he shook his head in denial.

"It wasn't me. I haven't learnt how to Apparate yet. I couldn't have, even if I'd wanted to. It… It had to be Uncle Bobby."

* * *

_Hogwarts_

To say that the atmosphere in the castle was charged was a gross understatement. When Dumbledore and Snape returned with the news that Bobby, Alex and Harry had been taken by the Death Eaters, it sent the other teens into a panic, and Nick into a state of near hysteria. In the end, Dumbledore was forced to summon Madam Pomfrey with a Calming Draught before he was able to settle down.

Now, everyone sat together in the Great Hall while potential plans of action were discussed.

"We have to do something," Hermione insisted. "God knows what they're doing to Harry… and probably to Bobby and Alex, too!"

"How absolutely brilliant of you, Miss Granger," Snape sneered at her. "There's just one little problem with your plan, though, in that we don't know _where they are_."

"But she's right," Nick protested, throwing Snape an angry look. "There are three lives at stake here, and we're doing what? Just sitting around on our asses talking about it!"

"I understand your anxieties," Dumbledore told him, "and I assure you that all members of the Order are searching for them even as we speak. As soon as we know where they are, we will be able to act."

At that moment, the doors of the Great Hall opened and a sour-looking Filch led in a very angry-looking Captain Deakins, whom Dumbledore had arranged to be transported to the castle by Portkey.

"Good," Dumbledore said, though there was little relief in his voice. "Captain Deakins, thankyou for coming…"

"Forget the pleasantries," Deakins snapped. "What the hell has happened to my detectives?"

"Would you come with me, please?" Dumbledore asked him. "Nick, could you please join us? And Minerva, you also. Would everyone else please remain here for the time being."

And with that, he led them quickly out of the Great Hall.

"What is going on?" Deakins demanded to know as Dumbledore ushered them into his office.

"I'll tell you what's going on," Nick said heatedly. "A psychotic maniac by the name of Voldemort who has been after Harry ever since he was born has grabbed him virtually right out from under our noses, and Bobby and Alex had been caught right in the middle."

Deakins looked around at Dumbledore for confirmation, and the old wizard nodded slowly.

"There is truth in that, but it is not the complete story. Yes, Voldemort has wanted Harry dead for a long time, but the truth is that it was not Harry who was Voldemort's target this time around."

Deakins blanched as he read between the lines of what Dumbledore was saying.

"Bobby? You're saying that Bobby was this lunatic's target?"

"I'm afraid so," Dumbledore admitted. "I will attempt to explain now, because when they are rescued, Bobby is going to need all the support we can collectively offer him."

"What is going on?" McGonagall asked in confusion. "Albus?"

"I'm sorry, Minerva. What I'm going to tell you all is a secret that I have been obliged to keep for the better part of forty-five years. It was for good reason, to protect one who had a terrible birthright that he did not ask for."

"You… aren't talking about Harry now… are you?" Nick asked, suddenly looking extraordinarily pale. Dumbledore regarded him solemnly.

"No, I am not. Nick, Bobby is indeed your brother, but he is not your full brother. Your father was not his father."

"Damn it, will you stop talking in riddles?" Nick exploded. "Whatever you're trying to say, just say it!"

Dumbledore nodded in compliance.

"Anthony, your mother was promised to Voldemort by her family. She rejected that fate, however, and fled her family. She married your father, and you were born. Then, some time before Voldemort was finally recognised by the wizarding world as the threat that he really was, he searched Frances out to take revenge for her rejection of him. Rather than kill her, though, he did something that, in many ways, was far worse."

"He raped her, didn't he?" Deakins guessed, sounding as sick as he now looked. Dumbledore nodded.

"Yes. He did."

"And Bobby was the result of the rape," Deakins concluded. Again, Dumbledore nodded.

"You can't be serious, Albus," McGonagall whispered in horror. "You're saying that Detective Goren is Voldemort's _son_?"

"Yes, Minerva," Dumbledore confirmed. "That is what I am saying."

"And you've known this all along?" Nick asked hoarsely. Dumbledore watched him with sympathy.

"Frances came to me for help when she fled her family. She came to me again after learning that she was pregnant to Lord Voldemort. She did not want to terminate the pregnancy, but she was terrified of what would happen after the child was born. She was terrified, with good reason, that Voldemort would attempt to take the child. So I agreed to act as her Secret Keeper, and to hide the truth of Bobby's heritage. It is the reason no offer was made to him to attend a wizarding school in America when he was old enough. As far as the wizarding world was concerned, he simply did not exist."

Nick looked up at Dumbledore resentfully.

"He had a right to know. You had a responsibility to tell him. You _should_ have told him when he turned up here three weeks ago!"

"I couldn't tell him, even though I wanted to," Dumbledore told him. "I was Frances' Secret Keeper, and I had a responsibility first and foremost to her. I could not betray that trust. There has been too much of that sort of betrayal in past years. No, I could not surrender that secret to anyone… even Bobby… without her explicit permission, and I did not obtain that permission until this morning. Unfortunately, by that time, it was too late."

Deakins looked at Dumbledore, ashen-faced.

"He'll kill Bobby, won't he? This Lord Voldemort… He's going to kill Bobby."

"I fear he will try," Dumbledore admitted softly.

Silence fell as they each contemplated the grim situation in their own minds. They were still wrapped up in silence when one of the portraits immediately behind Dumbledore suddenly came to life with an explosion of noise and colour.

"Dumbledore! Thank the heavens, I don't have to go traipsing from portrait to portrait all around this damned castle to find you!"

Dumbledore turned, and his face betrayed no surprise at Phineas' flustered appearance.

"What is it, Phineas?"

"Your little protégé, Potter, and the two Americans. You might like to know they're being held by Voldemort and his lot at the Black Mansion. They're currently hiding out in Potter's room, but I'm afraid it won't be long before they're found. They need help, rather urgently. Potter's uncle is in rather a bad way. It looks as though Voldemort used the Cruciatus curse on him."

"The _what_ curse?" Deakins asked, feeling a chill race through him.

"The Cruciatus curse, one of the three unforgivable curses," Dumbledore explained. "It is effectively a means of torturing someone."

"Fuck…" Nick whispered. Dumbledore made a vague motion with his hand, and a long staff levitated across the room, and hovered in the middle of the floor.

"Captain Deakins, are you armed?"

In answer, Deakins pulled back his jacket to reveal the gun holstered at his side. Dumbledore nodded.

"I normally would not suggest this, but we need to act immediately, and there is no time to contact the other members of the Order. We must go in fast, and get out even faster. Captain Deakins, would you be willing to come with us?"

Deakins didn't hesitate.

"I'm with you."

Dumbledore motioned to the staff.

"This is a Portkey directly into the Black mansion. It will transport us directly into the mansion, inside Harry's room. Voldemort will become aware of our presence the instant we arrive, and so we must be as fast as we can. Minerva, if you would…?"

"I'm coming, too," Nick said abruptly, launching himself to his feet. Dumbledore shook his head.

"No, Nick, I must ask you to wait here."

"Damn it, Bobby's my brother!" Nick burst out. "I can't just sit around here and wait!"

"I appreciate your fears," Dumbledore answered, "but this Portkey can only transport six people at the most. Please, it would be of greater help if you could go to the hospital wing, and alert Madam Pomfrey to what's happening. Tell her that her services will be required urgently on our return."

Nick stood frozen and, for a long moment it seemed that he was going to argue. Then, finally, he nodded reluctantly and hurried from the office. Dumbledore waited until he'd gone, and then nodded towards the portkey.

"All right, Minerva, Captain Deakins. On three. One, two, three."

They grabbed the Portkey at the same moment and, with a dizzying whoosh, they were gone.

* * *

"Neville's parents…" Alex said softly as sat on floor, cradling Bobby to her. He'd finally lost consciousness completely, and showed no sign of waking up again any time soon. She was quietly grateful. Being unconscious meant no pain. On the other hand, there was Harry's ominous comment about Neville's parents. 

Harry looked up at her tiredly.

"They're both in St Mungo's. I met his mum. It… It's hard to describe. I guess it was like… like…"

"Like Bobby's mom?"

"Yeah," Harry mumbled, reddening slightly. Alex returned her attention to Bobby. That was _not_ going to happen to him. She simply wasn't going to let it happen.

There was a loud crash somewhere downstairs, following by angry shouting.

"They know we're gone," Harry whispered, and Alex reached over to grasp his hand reassuringly.

"Whatever happens, Harry, we're going to go down fighting."

He nodded wordlessly, not trusting himself to speak. His gaze went back to his uncle, and he felt his hopes fade just a little. Despite Bobby's misadventures on a broomstick, Harry had started to see his uncle as strong…unbeatable. It had been terrible, and frightening to watch him being assaulted by Fenrir. And then, as if that hadn't been bad enough, then Voldemort had had to use the Cruciatus curse on him once more, pushing him beyond what he capable of coping with. And then, there was the horrible news that Voldemort had confronted Bobby with.

Could it really be true, he wondered dazedly. Was it actually possible that Bobby was Voldemort's...son? He shook the thought off almost violently, for fear it would make him physically sick to think about it. All he knew was that if it _was_ true, then… Actually, he didn't know what to think. It was all a hopeless blur, and he couldn't sort out one fact from the next right then. He needed time to think and, right at that moment, he just didn't have the time or the luxury.

Harry noticed Alex watching him, and let his gaze drop, hoping she wouldn't see his turmoil and think that his respect for his uncle had been in any way diminished. It hadn't, not at all, but at the same time it was going to take a lot to recover from the shock of this latest assault from Voldemort and his cronies.

* * *

Alex watched the emotions play on Harry's face, and saw the guilt flash in his eyes in the instant before he lowered his gaze. She could guess well enough what he was thinking and feeling, and she hoped he didn't think she thought badly of him for it. What they had witnessed had been truly awful, and he would have to have been inhuman not to feel disturbed by it. Indeed, she herself felt unsettled and sick by what they had seen. 

She looked down at Bobby with fresh grief as she recalled the terrible words that Voldemort had spoken to Bobby.

_You are my son_…

And what was it that he'd called Bobby? Stephen… To think that but for the courage of one woman, her Bobby Goren, selfless and brave police detective, could just as easily have Stephen Riddle, son and heir of the most evil wizard ever.

In that moment, Alex found herself filled anew with gratitude to and respect for Frances Goren. The woman had risked everything for her son… including her sanity. That was a love that could never be destroyed. She just hoped and prayed Bobby had the strength now to come back from this. But it wasn't going to be easy, not by a long shot.

The flash of light inside the room caught both of them by surprise. For a split second Alex thought it was Death Eaters and, when a strong hand came down on her shoulder, she tried to fight.

"Alex, stop fighting!"

The familiar voice brought her struggles to a complete stop and she looked up to find it was not a Death Eater standing over her, but rather Professor McGonagall. A rapid look around revealed Dumbledore had a hold of Harry, and crouching on the other side of her, taking Bobby into his arms…

"Captain…" Alex whispered.

She had no chance to speak further. Even as Dumbledore, McGonagall and Deakins reached for the staff, there was a blast of cold air and a tall, black-robed figure materialised in the room.

Voldemort screamed in a rage and lunged forward, clawed hands outstretched to grab the closest body. There was a strange sound, like the air being sucked away, followed by the nauseating spinning sensation of the portkey, and then they were gone, leaving their evil captor far behind.

* * *

The Portkey dropped them all in a terrible heap in the middle of the Great Hall and in all the confusion, all the muddle, Alex kept a vise-like grip on Bobby's wrist, fearing that if she let him go for even a second, he would fall away back to those monsters who taken them all. 

"Alex," Deakins' voice said in soothing tones at her shoulder. She shook her head, refusing to look away from Bobby's pale face. Even in sleep, she could see the rigors of the curse used on him affecting him. She could only pray he was too deeply unconscious for nightmares.

"Alex," Deakins tried again, kneeling down beside her and looking down at Bobby, and she finally glanced at him for only the briefest of seconds. "The school nurse—Dumbledore sent Bobby's brother upstairs to get her. They should be here in a bit. He needs medical attention. You know that."

Alex felt her breath hitch and tried to speak past the large lump obstructing her throat. She shuddered, realizing she was crying. Deakins bit his lip and put his arm around her shoulder, frowning angrily at whoever had done this to his detectives and to Harry. He remembered getting a glimpse at something inhuman; something he would have previously thought only existed in the realm of nightmares. The idea that that...thing...was Bobby Goren's biological father was terrifying.

Deakins looked up as he heard hurried footsteps, taking a deep breath as Anthony Goren and his wife, whom Deakins had never met prior to today, came rushing into the Great Hall.

"Let me see him," Anthony said breathlessly, trying to keep from crying as the ravaged form of his younger brother came into view. "Let me—oh, God..."

Nick fell beside Bobby and froze, his breath shallow and uneven. Tentatively, he reached out and touched Bobby's face, frightened to find his brother's skin was very cold.

"Is he…?" Nick began, unable to finish the sentence.

"No," Dumbledore answered, his voice and face grave. "Bobby is not dead, but he is in very poor condition. He'll need to be seen by Madam Pomfrey immediately."

Almost as if she had been waiting for his signal, Madam Pomfrey came rushing into the room, coming to hover over Bobby's prone body, her face white. "Oh dear…oh, no," she whispered, clearly disturbed. With that, she pulled out her wand and flicked it in Bobby's direction, Levitating him gently off the floor and beginning to bring him upstairs.

"Hey!" Alex protested as Bobby's arm slipped out of her grasp. She stood, reaching for Bobby again and arresting the forward motion of his body. Madam Pomfrey seemed about to protest, herself, but Dumbledore shook his head.

"I'm certain it is in Bobby's best interest for Alex to accompany him to the Hospital Wing. Captain Deakins, Anthony, and Draco shall, as well. Harry, you may join them soon, but—"

"You want him to give a statement," Alex interjected sharply. "You want him to describe what that…that..." She bit back the horror that was building in her throat again, settling for glaring viciously at Dumbledore.

"It's okay, Alex," Harry said flatly, rising from his position on the floor and walking up to Dumbledore and Deakins, the latter of whom gave him a going-over with his eyes to check for any external injuries. Harry was limping and bruised, but wasn't nearly as bad as Bobby. "I've done this before. Several times, remember? If we don't get it over with as soon as possible, there won't be an accurate account. You know that."

Alex frowned, clearly fighting back tears, before nodding stiffly and turning to finally allow Madam Pomfrey to escort her partner's unconscious form upstairs.

...tbc...

**A/N:** Okay, I'm sure blucougar57 agrees with me that writing this chapter was emotionally exhausting. You have no idea the turmoil I went through with this. Blucougar57 will vouch that I was rather distraught about the hell we're putting Bobby through. ::cries:: If Enlee ever decides to read this story, she should know that I'm still mulling over that idea I told her about for the sequel. It basically comes down to a toss-up between House and the X-Files. Because I've already said they're going to live through this, haven't I? They have to. So that leaves Bobby, Alex, Harry, Draco, and Dudley taking a trip to D.C. or to Princeton. Feel free to vote, readers. I'd love to see what you guys think.


	15. As Dead as Dead Can Be…

**Ominous**  
_By Angelfirenze_

**Disclaimer: **Duh.

**Summary:** Whatever happens, happens; especially now that the series is over and I can do whatever I want to deviate from HP canon—particularly that epilogue… This broke from CI canon a long time ago. ::shrugs::

**Inspiration:** Way too much to list at the moment, but I mainly credit the CI episode 'Silencer' as well as the unbelievably good Snape and Harry mentorship series kilara25 is working on for breaking my block. Spoilers for the episode. I just rewatched it and loved it all over again.

**Dedications: **To blucougar57, who put me through all this emotional turmoil and still stuck around to write half the last chapter, not to mention reading this fic ever since its inception;

**Rating: MA**, for the obvious reasons.

**Notes: **I know I've had writer's block for a ridiculously long time. It has sucked so much. As for this chapter, blame Joanne Kathleen Rowling, Dick Wolf, Rene Balcer, David Shore, James Hugh Calum Laurie, Lisa Edelstein, Jesse Spencer, Robert Sean Leonard, Vincent Phillip D'Onofrio, Kathryn Erbe, Christopher Noth, and—most especially—James Sheridan, Annabella Sciorra, and Courtney B. Vance.

And, hey, guess who I gained a fontanel (or four) for in the meantime? Mikey's awesome. He proved himself to me, as did Barek. I miss her, Deakins, and Carver so much.

Part XIV: As Dead as Dead Can Be…The Doctor Tells Me…

Hospital Wing  
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  
11:05 pm

Draco Thomas Malfoy stared down at the ashen face of the unconscious police detective in front of him, wondering fruitlessly how he was still alive. _Your cousin_, a small voice in his head reminded him. Bobby was his family. But then, so was his father, the man he _knew_ was responsible for a good deal of the damage done to the detective's body. It was plain to him as if someone had held up a large sign proclaiming it to be so. Draco breathed deeply, clenching his eyes shut and willing the memories he'd long repressed not to surface. They already held sway over his sleeping life; he didn't need them contaminating the waking one, as well.

A hand alighted on his right shoulder and his eyes snapped open. He looked toward the source to find Bobby's partner watching him with tears in her eyes. Draco found himself beginning to squirm at the scrutiny and looked around the room to distract himself. His other cousin, Anthony, Anthony's wife, Sara, and Alex were all grouped around Bobby's bed, their faces the picture of misery. The new man who had gone with Dumbledore was here, as well, with what Draco now understood was a gun strapped into the holster under his arm. He believed that Dumbledore had referred to him as Captain Deakins.

The grey-haired man looked at Draco and smiled wearily. He reached out a hand and said, "Captain James Deakins."

Draco swallowed and glanced at Alex, who was wiping her eyes.

"He's mine and Bobby's boss, Draco," Alex said, a shaky smile coming to her lips. "He's great."

Captain Deakins snorted, but smiled as Draco finally accepted his hand and shook it. He eyed the Glock with what he hoped was a cool expression. "You have a gun, as well."

The captain chuckled darkly. "Yeah, I really need a gun with my cushy desk job." The sarcasm in his voice set Draco slightly more at ease. It was one of the reasons he liked Alex, as well. He was used to sarcasm. It made him feel more...at home. Or as at home as he had ever been, at any rate.

"Ahem," Alex interjected, an eyebrow raised in Deakins' direction. "I'm not even going to touch that ridiculous statement."

Deakins smiled grimly. "Yeah." He looked at Draco, taking in the boy's black clothing and his contrasting blond hair that was so pale it almost seemed white. "I need it."

Suddenly, a low moaning sound from the bed attracted everyone's attention.

"Al—" Bobby's hoarse whisper barely registered, but the sound was harsh on Alex's ears, regardless. She reached for his hand, fighting the urge to wince as Bobby locked her hand in a death grip. She could see the veins under his pale skin pulsing rapidly. Fear was coursing through him, even as sedated as he was. Alex figured that were he on a heart monitor, it would be beeping wildly.

"I'm right here, Bobby. We're right here; don't worry." Absently, she felt tears sliding down her face as Bobby swallowed with difficulty and tried again to speak.

"Here," Captain Deakins told him, reaching for the glass of water on the night table next to the bed. Bobby had scarcely enough energy to drink, but he managed a swallow and looked around at his family seated in his room. Harry, he saw, was not among them.

"Har—" Bobby swallowed again and cleared his stinging throat. "Harry..."

"He's with Dumbledore," Deakins assured him, biting his lip a bit. "Giving a statement."

Bobby's subsequent moan and clenching of his hand around Alex's wrist told her that he was beginning to relive the last few hours.

"He's alright, Bobby," she whispered, stroking his arm as his older brother moved his chair closer to the bed and turned it backwards, sitting astride it. Bobby turned slowly toward him, his breathing still shallow. Anthony himself was still very white, clearly trying not to cry.

"Hey, kid," he murmured, taking Bobby's other hand and stroking between his thumb and forefinger. "You look like shit."

"You don't look so hot yourself," Bobby whispered, frowning. Then he shuddered and pulled his hands out of both Alex and Nick's grips. "D-don't touch me."

Alex immediately understood what this was about and reached forward to take Bobby's hand again, but he snatched his hand back once more. "Get away from me," he moaned desperately.

"Bobby—"

"No," he growled, clenching his hands into fists. He stared down at his arms, imagining the Dark Mark encircling the left, infecting him and sinking into his skin. "Get out."

"Damn it, Goren," Deakins snapped, standing up and striding over to the bed. "Whatever that maniac said to you, it's not true."

"I'm his son!" Bobby tried to yell hoarsely, his ravaged voice barely rising above a whisper. "He said..." A choked sob surged forward and Bobby fell into Alex's arms as she began to rock him back and forth, whispering softly in his ear. Anthony reached out to touch Bobby, but obviously thought the better of it. Tears of his own now wended heedlessly down his face as he watched his younger brother sob, completely helpless to protect him as he felt he should. A sudden burst of anger welled up in Nick's gut and he stood, muttering a hurried apology before taking to the hallway beyond. Deakins and Sara both hesitated before deciding that Bobby was better off with fewer people there until he fell asleep. They followed Nick into the hallway, gently closing the door to the hospital wing behind them.

Draco unconsciously pressed himself up against the wall as the three elder adults brushed past him, his stomach twisted in a billion unfamiliar knots. Was this what attachment felt like? If so, then he was glad his mother had taught him not to feel such things. They made you weak, she had always told him. But, as he watched Bobby Goren sob in anger and terror and pain, he thought about the fact that if this had happened to him, his mother—without a doubt—wouldn't be here to allay his fears. Bobby's own mother wasn't, of course, but that was also his father's fault. Draco clenched his teeth, a stony look slamming onto his face. It always seemed to come back to him, didn't it?

* * *

"It's not your fault, you know," a voice said, though Anthony could barely hear it above his own thoughts and the frantic, heavy thudding of his beleaguered heart. Dimly, he noticed Sara's small hand alighting on his back. He started to pull away from her, but stopped after he heard her trying to hold back sobs. 

Behind them, Bobby's captain, James Deakins, walked up and Anthony turned around, pulling a white handkerchief out of his pocket and handing it to Sara, who laughed sarcastically and began mopping at his face.

Nick looked back at Deakins, who was smiling ruefully at the handkerchief in her hand, clearly thinking of Bobby. Side-stepping the captain's earlier comment, he muttered, "Our mom t-taught us to always carry handkerchiefs. 'You never know what'll happen. What woman will need it.'"

Sara snorted daintily and twisted the familiar object in her hands. "Just think. If I hadn't sneezed all over you, we wouldn't be together. I wonder if Alex loves Bobby's as much as I love this one."

"Probably," Nick agreed, leaning back and looking around at the hallway around them. All the paintings were still moving, clearly upset at the chaos that had erupted within and without the castle. "Man, this place is unreal. I keep expecting to wake up and find out I'm dreamin'...or is it a nightmare, now?"

He steeled himself as a violent shudder ripped through his body at the memory of his brother's abused, beaten, violated body. "God," he turned back around and leaned on the windowsill. "Who the fuck is this maniac and who does he think he is, tryin' to kill _my _brother?!"

He slammed his fists on the stone windowsill, producing a dull thud. "He raped my mother and tortured her and now he's got _minions_ doing the same to my baby brother. I want to kill 'im."

"The sentiment is mutual, trust me," Harry's voice carried over as he came shuffling down the hall with a visibly distraught Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom, Ron Weasley, as well as Fred and George Weasley, who had immediately come to the castle in lieu of their parents, who were doubtlessly awaiting word from the twins that Harry, Alex, and Bobby were well. Unfortunately, they wouldn't be receiving it.

"Harry," Sara whispered, going forward to take him and bring him to herself and Anthony, who swept him up in just as fierce a hug as he knew Bobby would. Sara wrapped her arms around them both, now audibly crying. "You're hurt, Harry," she managed, wiping her eyes with Anthony's handkerchief.

Harry tried to smile for her benefit and failed miserably.

"I'm not bad, Aunt Sara," He tried to assure her, despite the visible shaking of his hands. "I'll be fine. You two should worry about Uncle Bobby. Dudley, Luna, and Ginny offered to stay with Aaron."

Harry leaned into Anthony's shoulder, gripping back tightly. "He was crying. He kept saying his tummy hurt."

"He's just like Bobby used to be," Nick intoned softly, sniffling heavily and leaning back to drag a hand across his eyes. "Whenever I was sick, Bobby always knew; sometimes even before I did. Even as a baby. My kid brother..." He began to sob then, sliding back against the wall and down to the flagged stone floor, his face in his hands. Sara sat down next to him, cradling his head against her chest. Harry watched the scene with despair gripping his heart, making it constrict painfully.

Deakins took a deep breath, watching the seemingly mismatched group with a look in his eyes that spoke of anger and love, frustration of being unable to protect those one cared about. He thought of the young blond boy Harry's age—Bobby and Nick's cousin, Draco. It had been obvious that he wasn't used to caring about the welfare of others, let alone family. Deakins wondered what sort of environment the boy had been raised in, though what he gleaned from Professor Dumbledore's terse explanations over the past few weeks was that it hadn't been a happy one. He'd gathered that dangerous events were unfolding, but had been completely unprepared to receive an owl and Portkey in the middle of the night telling him that Bobby, Alex, and Harry had been kidnapped and that he needed to come to the school immediately. When Bobby's head appeared in the middle of his and Angie's fireplace those weeks ago, he'd thought that he was having a particularly bizarre dream.

Now, though, as Nick had so aptly described, it was turning into a nightmare. Two of his detectives—who might as well have been more of his own children, he cared about them so much—as well as a member of Bobby's seemingly small, fractured family, had been kidnapped. Bobby and Harry had both been tortured and Bobby had practically been raped. He felt sick enough to vomit and tried valiantly to keep his stomach contents at bay. The sadness, rage, and helplessness fought for space in his gut, trying their best to break free. But he couldn't let that happen. Not yet. Taking a deep breath and turning to face the other kids he hadn't personally met yet, he reached out to shake all their hands, he tried to ignore the voice in his head demanding retribution. Deakins eyed each of the children, desperate to distract himself from his increasingly violent thoughts.

"Hermione and Holden Granger," Harry intoned sullenly, still wrapped in Sara's arms, but facing them all now. "Ronald, Fred, and George Weasley—Fred and George run a joke shop out of Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade down in the village. They gave Uncle Bobby and Alex lots of free stuff. Me too, because I helped them start their business. And that's Neville Longbottom. His parents were tortured by the Death Eaters, too. He lives with his grandmum."

He gently pried himself out of Sara's embrace and walked over to Neville, who was ashen and shaking even harder than Harry. Harry wrapped an arm around his friend, who took several deep breaths and leaned into Harry's side, clearly trying not to cry himself.

"They're in-in S-st. Mungo's," Neville stammered, balling his fists and glaring at an unseen enemy. "They don't recognize me."

Harry tightened his hold on his friend, his face taking on a forced flat stoniness. "Mine are dead, as you probably know."

Deakins stared at all these...kids, astonishment and horror fighting for space in his stomach, wondering how they could be so strong. They were only kids, barely more than _babies_, really, and they'd all been through so much. He thanked God every day that he was able to stay alive and raise his girls. Just the thought of them having to care for themselves out of necessity was enough to make him want to kill the bastards who had put all these kids, and Bobby and Nick, in the very same position. Hermione, Holden, Ron, Ginny, and the twins all had loving parents, he knew. From all he'd heard, Luna Lovegood's father was a bit eccentric, even for this world, but he seemed to care deeply about her. The others, though...Harry, Neville, Draco, Dudley, Bobby, Nick...they had been forced into desperate situations by ignorant caretakers and monsters who had thought it was fun to kill and maim. He could only begin to imagine how deep and far it really went. How many of the kids in this school had families decimated by the terrible reign of one psychopath?

Deakins sighed and ran a hand over his face. "So," he said, trying to sound less…depressed, at any rate. "You're the Harry I've heard so much about."

Harry blushed and nodded, sticking out a hand, which Deakins shook. "We sort of...found one another, I guess. Nobody ever told him that he had a younger brother—er, he and Uncle Nick had one. No one ever told me I had another set of uncles."

"One who didn't hate your guts and treat you like shit," Nick said bitterly, thinking of this mysterious Vernon Dursley and wanting very much to beat his face in. "Son of a bitch."

Harry frowned bemusedly, "We have bigger problems than my uncle. I'll never see him again...unless..." He looked at Captain Deakins. "You guys have to prosecute him and stuff, right? Aren't I supposed to testify?"

Deakins smiled grimly, "You don't have to yet. Assistant District Attorney Carver and I have been working closely with London police, building a case. We managed to get him what I believe is an astronomical bail. And since they found out what he did in Surrey and he was fired from his job, he's not going anywhere for a while. Either way, I'm not entirely versed on the British legal system but my impression is that since you're a wizard, things work differently. Once you become a citizen of New York, become naturalized, you'll have rights as an American. We can't expedite Dursley because you lived here while he was abusing you, but if he ever got out and came after you in New York, we could take him down ourselves. Besides, you're right. We have bigger fish to fry than Vernon Dursley. Trust me, though, he'll get his."

Harry nodded and looked at the hospital wing. "You know chances are we'll never get Greyback or Lucius Malfoy. Or any of the rest of them."

"Trust me, Harry—"

"I'm sorry, sir," Harry said, turning back to face Deakins, pain and seriousness written all over his face. "I know you're new to this, the wizarding world. Muggles...you guys tend to forget that they do magic, too. Terrible, evil magic never meant to be used on or by anyone or anything. Our side has been fighting Voldemort and those like him for years. My parents died fighting them. I've seen pictures of the original Order of the Phoenix. I can count on my fingers the ones still alive. We can recruit all we like, try and entice magical creatures like the giants and the goblins to our side, but Voldemort's got his Death Eaters, he's got Dark Magic...Werewolves like Greyback are only too happy to join him because he promises them bodies. Fresh meat."

Deakins stared, horror filling him and constricting his chest. To hear a not even sixteen year old boy speak so plainly of such death and devastation made his stomach clench. He wanted to be sick again.

Harry pointed to his scar. "Dark Magic did this. I'm connected to him. There are shadows of Voldemort _inside_ me. It's not so simple. It's not cops and robbers."

Harry glanced at his friends, all of whom had darkly determined expressions on their faces. "I'll see you guys later. In the Room of Requirement, if you like."

The small group nodded before breaking off and going in various directions.

Deakins blinked, taking a deep breath and going to join Nick and Sara at their place by the window.

Nick had been able to stop crying now, his eyes still red, his face pale and set with anger. "He sounds just like Bobby," he whispered, and all either Deakins or Sara could do was nod.

* * *

Bobby had cried himself to sleep in Alex's arms. Draco was watching the big cop sleep, cradled in this tiny woman's arms. It had taken a while, but she had finally managed to convince him to take the Dreamless Sleep potion Madam Pomfrey had been insisting he drink. They had been able to force a Calming Draught down Bobby's throat, but Alex had known that no amount of tranquilizing would keep Bobby from reliving his horrible ordeal. Bandages were everywhere, almost, under his hospital gown. Draco watched as Alex sniffled, tears sliding silently down her face as she tried to sleep herself. The door opened and Harry walked in. Immediately, Draco snapped a finger to his lips, signaling for him to be very quiet. Harry nodded, staring at the bed, his eyes dark with anger and fear. Draco could see that Harry's hands were shaking. Harry shoved his hands into his pockets and inched over to a vacant chair, slowly lowering himself into it and wincing as lances of pain shot through his battered body. 

"Do you need me to get Madam Pomfrey?" Draco whispered, frowning. "She could give you some chocolate."

Harry shook his head, his gaze never wavering from Bobby's prone body nor from Alex's shuddering form in the chair beside it. She was crying, he could see, even in her sleep. His eyes began to burn and Harry bit his lip, determined not to cry in front of Draco Malfoy. His tactics, for all his efforts, weren't working and he cursed himself bitterly as he felt stinging tears leak out from under his now clenched eyelids.

Draco sat back in his chair, running a hand through his hair before nervously rubbing the already worn knees of his jeans. He still wasn't used to wearing Muggle clothing, after only a few weeks, and stared at the words written on his t-shirt, trying to distract himself from the sight of Harry trying desperately not to cry and failing badly. Trying not to notice the way Harry's entire body shook with pain and hatred at the evil...thing that had made his entire life hell.

_National Sarcasm Society_, Draco chanted, trying not to look. _...Like We Need Your Support...  
_

* * *

St. Mungo's Hospital Long-Term Care Ward  
9:15pm  
London, England 

Frances Goren watched, her entire persona ice cold, as Albus Dumbledore walked back through the double doors and came again to stand at the end of her bed. He knew better than to sit down.

"I'm sorry," he began, but Frances paid his words no heed.

"I want to see my son."

Dumbledore closed his eyes briefly, hating himself for what he needed to tell her. For failing the very man he'd sworn to her so long ago that he would protect. He would have given anything to be able to tell her differently.

"I'm sorry, Frances," Dumbledore said again sadly, removing his hat and inclining his head toward her. "But that is, at the moment, entirely unfeasible."

"I want to see my son, Albus," Frances Goren repeated calmly, her grey eyes boring into him like a drill. "He is in your school, injured. Sick from what those…" she faltered, gripping the blanket covering her legs. "_Monsters_ did to him. You promised me you would protect my boy. You didn't. You take me to see my Robert. You owe me that much."

Albus sighed inwardly, knowing that everything she said made sense and, even more, was true. Everything in him wanted to spare her the anguish of seeing her youngest son in such a state, but he also knew that given a chance to stew in her worry, it would only cause Frances—and eventually Bobby, once he had the presence of mind to remember it—undue worry. Against what everything in him said was the common sense decision, Albus nodded. He turned to leave, ready to go get her discharge set up. After all, there was nothing about Frances' present condition that couldn't be monitored by Madam Pomfrey at Hogwarts. So long as none of them left the castle, their small extended family would be safe.

He hoped.

* * *

Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger sat with their friends in what was now Harry's living room, watching Fred and George perform silly little spells to entertain and distract Harry's young cousin, Aaron. The little boy squealed with delight as the twins charmed two eggcups to do flips and somersaults. Harry, Alex, Draco, Nick, and Sara had yet to return from the hospital wing. 

Neville appeared to be reading a book on Transubstantiative Transfiguration, but Hermione could see that since the book was upside down, he was really just staring at the pages.

The archway in the wall opened up and everyone looked toward the doorway. Draco entered followed by Sara, Captain Deakins, and an extremely putout-looking Nick, Harry, and Alex. Alex immediately stalked into her bedroom and slammed the door, locking it from the inside. Deakins sighed and looked at Harry, who scowled and turned sharply toward the kitchen, from within which immediately issued the banging of cabinets and drawers.

"I had to ask you all to leave," Deakins said tiredly, though it was plain he knew it was no use. "Harry, you and Alex are both sorely in need of rest. Bobby, as well." He looked regretfully at Nick, who stared through him as though he weren't there.

"Is everything alright?" Hermione asked in a careful tone.

"Oh, yes, everything's peachy! Captain Deakins thinks we need rest!" Harry yelled from the kitchen and something heavy dropped to the ground. "So he had Madam Pomfrey send us away!"

Deakins seemed inclined to argue, but resisted, knowing that Harry's emotions and anger were getting the best of him and his outbursts were entirely warranted, given what had happened.

"Never mind that Bobby needs us," Nick growled, yanking a cushion off one of the armchairs and throwing it to the ground. Aaron inched up to his father, who looked down at him and had to struggle to regain his composure.

"What's up, champ?" He asked in a wavering voice. He reached down and lifted Aaron into his arms.

"Is Uncle Bobby gonna be okay?" Aaron asked sadly, wrapping his arms around his father's neck and pulling himself up onto the big man's shoulders.

"I hope so, kiddo," Nick said, taking a deep breath. "Hey whaddya say we go help Harry make lunch?"

"Okay, Daddy," Aaron agreed and they entered the kitchen, mindful of any projectiles that might come from the pantry.

"That sounds like a great idea," Hermione said nervously, getting to her feet and dragging Ron with her. "Um, Neville, would you like to help, too?"

Neville, his round face dark with anger, took a deep breath, nodded and stood, as well.

Deakins, on the other hand, sighed heavily and stomped over to collapse into the chair one of his best detective's brother had just vacated. God, was this nightmare ever going to end? Something inside told him it was just beginning.

* * *

Malfoy Mansion  
Wiltshire, England  
3:56 am 

They had left Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, Lucius Malfoy having extended the 'courtesy' of the use of his manor. It was useful, Voldemort agreed as he and his Death Eaters stood in one of the countless underground rooms and passages that wended beneath the house. Now, Voldemort watched as Fenrir Greyback again writhed in agony on the floor before him. He listened to the howls and yelps of the werewolf, thinking of how Greyback had so brazenly violated _his_ heir. Had harmed him. As though he had the right. The privilege. The _honor._ The disobedient whelp would soon learn.

He lifted his wand and the werewolf flopped to the floor like the twitching, useless lump of beastly flesh it was.

"_Never_ touch him again. You will not so much as go near him. Is that understood?"

Without waiting for an answer, Voldemort turned and Disapparated from the room. He would retrieve his wayward, idiot child himself if he had to.

* * *

The following day was Monday. Bobby was drifting in and out of consciousness when Harry and Draco visited him with Alex, Deakins, and Nick before their shared Potions class. He was being given Strengthening Potions and Madam Pomfrey said that regarding the physical damage, he should be healed up enough to go back to class by the end of the week. 

"What about the emotional damage?" Alex asked quietly, tears filling her eyes again as what she and Harry had witnessed flooded through her mind yet again. Contrary to what Deakins had insisted, she hadn't slept at all in nearly two days. Deakins was tempted to ask the school nurse if she would allow Alex to take any of those potions herself.

Madam Pomfrey nodded sadly before coming over and gripping Alex's hand. "I can't help him with that, I'm afraid. He doesn't need me for that, anyway. For that, dear, he needs all of you."

Alex nodded in turn before looking at the boys. "You two have class. Bobby won't be very happy if he finds out you two skipped."

"On his behalf," Draco protested, but Harry nodded, understanding.

"He'll be ever madder if he finds out it's on his behalf. Come on. I've got to show Snape my Potions essay. Hope he doesn't burn it because it's unfinished."

"He better not," Alex told him, taking his shoulder. "If that bastard tries anything, you come tell me. You had more important things to worry about this weekend than some stupid essay and he knows it."

Harry nodded and together, he and Draco met up with Hermione and Ron for class only to find that Snape was not there. Dumbledore, himself, was subbing Snape's classes saying that Snape needed time to prepare. What for, he never elaborated on for the majority of the class. Harry listened intently as the headmaster began to demonstrate the proper way to brew a Deafness potion, all the while wondering what Snape would have in store for him.

That evening, Alex hugged him and watched sadly as Deakins was given a Portkey by Dumbledore to take back to the States. "I'll tell ADA Lowell, Fin, and Munch, myself. And email AD Skinner to tell Bobby's buddies in Washington that he's stable. The only ones in our squad who'll know Bobby's hurt are Logan, Barek, and Carver," he promised just before he whirled out of sight. "No one else."

Clenching her eyes shut, she reached into her pocket and clutched Bobby's badge, which she had slipped in it to take to him in the hospital wing.

Bobby was lying on his side, trying to hide the hitching of his body as the bedsheet around him dampened. Alex rushed to his side, placing his badge on the bed beside him. Bobby flung a hand out and sent the badge flying across the room where it hit the wall and bounced to the floor with a metallic clatter.

"Bobby, what—"

"Don't touch me!" Bobby wheezed hoarsely, his voice gone from screaming. Madam Pomfrey hurried out of her office, then, with her wand brandished.

"Don't do anything to him!" Alex snarled and Madam Pomfrey halted and flinched.

"The only thing I've done is put a Silencing Charm around this ward so that he couldn't wake the castle with all the screaming he's been doing. I had to put one on _him_ eventually, otherwise, he would have ruined his throat for days. I've tried to give him Calming Draughts, but he threw them across the room--"

"You should have come to get me!"

Madam Pomfrey, whom Alex could now see had dark circles under her eyes—it was at once apparent that she had been up the entire night—bristled and white sparks flew out of the end of her wand. Alex froze and the nurse spoke quietly but firmly. "Detective, I cannot leave my patients. You of all people should know that."

Alex took a deep breath before looking back at Bobby, who was huddled under his sheets, breathing shallowly. "I know. I'm...I'm sorry. He just...I'm used to being..."

Madam Pomfrey's tired face melted into understanding and she sighed, gazing at Bobby. "He's been through the mill, this one. An understatement, I know, but I feel beyond words at the moment...he may need to go to St. Mungo's for treatment. The psychological damage..."

Alex's eyes shut and she felt herself shudder, flashes of watching that feral bastard as he...violated Bobby. The sounds of Bobby's screams echoing through her head as those Death Eaters tortured him. The nail marks left in Harry's palms that bled as he clenched his fists…both of them crying...

She felt arms come around her and arms gently maneuvering her toward a bed. She was settled onto the bed and a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, a glass of something pushed into her hands.

"Drink this and sit still."

"His badge," Alex started to stand up, but Madam Pomfrey pushed her back down to the bed.

"_Accio badge_," the witch murmured, waving her wand and the shield flew into her hand. She turned to face Bobby's huddled form and placed it on the night table.

"I repaired what physical damage I could while he was still unconscious. He hasn't let me near him since he first awoke."

Alex nodded, tears streaming down her face.

"_Drink_, Detective," Madam Pomfrey urged and she lifted the mug to her lips, her insides warming as the potion flowed down her throat.

"Bobby," she whispered once she had the awareness of mind to speak. But he didn't acknowledge her presence. "We'll get through this. You and me...and Harry. I promise..."

She received no answer.

* * *

Severus Snape sat in his quarters staring at his left arm, the Dark Mark vividly clear against his pale skin. He shut his eyes, remembering two weeks previous when he'd stood in the headmaster's office after meeting the two detectives for the first time. He'd stood, staring into the defiant brown eyes of the detective as he'd been berated for his treatment of Lily that terrible day, recognizing at once that Goren wasn't any ordinary man. He now knew for certain that his suspicions were far more than true. 

He has watched Goren in his Potions class, working his way through the younger year books as though the exercises were nothing more than a child's primary workbook. Marveled inwardly at how, on his very second day in class, Goren had brewed a perfect antidote to the Cruciatus curse.

He felt a wretched twist in his stomach at the irony of the fact that Goren had needed a vial of his own assignment the very next time Snape had laid eyes on his anguished form there in the hospital wing. The news from the headmaster that Goren was the Dark Lord's illegitimate _son_…that had thrown him completely. The idea that he was tutoring one of the potentially most dangerous wizards the world had ever seen was unnerving at the very least. But he recalls seeing the detective at meal times with his partner and the students...particularly Potter and Dursley…it was obvious even to himself that whatever Goren's mother and adoptive father had put he and his brother through—he'd seen the psychiatry records just as every other master at the school had—he wasn't the worse off for it.

Snape's understanding is that Goren had used his traumatic upbringing to help Potter begin coming to terms with his own.

_Potter_.

Snape's hand twitched convulsively as he remembered examining the thoughts and memories of the Dursleys while they were in his custody. Beatings, starvation, outright neglect—even the refusal to call Harry Potter by his own name—it had all been there. It had only been a massive effort at self-control that had kept him from hexing Vernon and Petunia Dursley into another galaxy. Say nothing of what they'd reduced their own offspring to. It was enough to make him want to...

Snape clenched his eyes shut again, turning his head to glare into his fireplace. He had watched Potter sitting in a chair next to him in the headmaster's office, Potter's face forcibly passive as the events of that night were revealed. Snape had closed his eyes, able to picture the scene quite clearly. Unlike his uncle, Potter was not a true natural at Occlumency and the memories poured forth as though from a sieve. What had galled him further, though, was the realization that of all the childhood memories he'd seen in Potter's mind while they'd been performing those fated Occlumency lessons he'd known nothing of the imprisonment, the terror, the shame...he'd been able to reach none of it.

The expression on Potter's face once Snape brought that to his attention was nothing short of satirical.

"What, pray tell, Mr. Potter, did you think Occlumency _was_?" Snape had asked, somehow managing not to lose his temper.

Potter had frowned, the impertinent expression he knew so well ghosting across his face. "Well, it seemed like mind reading to me, Professor. I told you."

"And I told you it was nothing like the Muggle psychic nonsense you seem to confuse it with. You have been performing Occlumency this entire time while I labored under misunderstandings of your true potential. You _don't_ work to your true abilities. One would believe you _want_ others to think you an idiot—"

"Severus," the headmaster interrupted calmly as Harry lurched to his feet. Goren's captain—Deakins—had reached forward and whispered something in Harry's ear and the boy had seated himself again, his green eyes fiery and indignant, but he had remained silent.

"You might want to try explaining the situation to him in a way that doesn't leave him wanting to punch you," the captain had told him, folding his arms and inclining his head toward Potter. "It'd be a help."

Snape had glowered up at the captain before setting his gaze back upon Potter. "The headmaster has ordered that you go back to your quarters for the night and that your family have a guard—a magical guard," he elaborated as it became apparent that Potter would interrupt.

"Captain Deakins and Alex—"

"Are Muggles, Mr. Potter, as I need hardly remind you. And Detective Eames was kidnapped just as you were. There will be extra wards facilitated by myself, the headmaster, and Professors McGonagall and Flitwick. The headmaster has decreed that you nor those closest to you are to leave the castle for _any reason_."

Potter had frowned and muttered a reluctant agreement before turning toward the headmaster and asking quietly, "May Captain Deakins and I go see Uncle Bobby now?"

Dumbledore had asked him for patience and replicated a copy of Harry's 'statement' for Captain Deakins, which the other man had slipped into his suit jacket pocket. Snape could see his service weapon holstered under his shoulder. He remembers when Detective Eames pulled her own gun on him and his shock and sudden apprehension making him forget what one generally looked like. His father's had certainly been far different.

The next segue in the conversation is the part he remembers most vividly. "You _are _capable of Occlumency, Mr. Potter. Just as you are capable of achieving an Outstanding Potions O.W.L. when you have made the prior decision to do so. My question is why you would willingly incline yourself to underperform. You had nothing to gain from it—"

"Other than getting the stuffing knocked out of me?" Potter had replied scathingly. "Oh, no, nothing at all."

"You are no longer in your Muggle home full-time, Mr. Potter. Your cousin has, himself, proven not to be the imbecile that even you believed. There is no more reason to undermine yourself in any way. I will brook no more substandard work from you. Certainly not if you are to keep the Dark Lord from delving into your thoughts once more. Since your own safety seems to mean as little to you as Ms. Lovegood's means to her--"

"What's Luna got to do with anything?"

"Stop. Interrupting. Me. Potter."

Potter fell silent and waited with that forcibly blank mask back on his face.

"As I said, since your safety means little to you, perhaps you will do better to remind yourself that that of your friends and family is just as important—and I do not signify that pair of jackals that brought you and Mr. Dursley up. Your true family. If you won't attempt to better yourself _for _yourself, then attempt it for them."

He had stopped talking then and took in the expression on Potter's face. One of confusion and doubt, scrutiny and vulnerability that he'd longed to see gone. He'd seen the same combinations on Lily's face—along with laughter and affection and so many other memories that made his heart ache to invoke—and averted his gaze from those eyes.

"We will begin in my chambers as soon as Madam Pomfrey clears you to return to your studies, Mr. Potter. Do not be late."

"What about Ron and Hermione? And Neville and Luna?"

"I daresay you've prepared them all enough, if your escapades in the Ministry not even a month ago are any indication. If they wish to assist you, particularly Miss Granger and Miss Lovegood, I implore you to let them."

The headmaster had bid Potter and Captain Deakins leave after that and he'd been subjected yet again to that piercing blue gaze. That which left his soul feeling flayed and cleaved open, his very being bare for all to see.

"You are finally beginning to get the measure of him, Severus," Dumbledore had told him, a grave smile on his face. "I implore _you_ to continue."

He'd been given his leave from the headmaster's office, then, and had been here ever since.

* * *

Frances Goren was wheeled silently into the hospital wing at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, her description and explanation of a wheelchair evidently enough for Minerva McGonagall to Transfigure one out of an unused desk in one of the empty classrooms. It was extremely late, she knew, and as much as she hoped her boy would be getting the rest he so deeply needed, she understood perfectly well that he would not on his own. 

Professor McGonagall helped Madam Pomfrey set up a bed for her on Bobby's right side. Alexandra was sleeping in the bed to his immediate left and she would die before she disturbed either of them willingly.

Slowly she was positioned beside Bobby's bed and gripped the handkerchief she carried over her mouth to muffle her sobs. He was more still than she'd ever seen him in her life. His blankets and sheets were gripped tightly in his hands, his entire body tense and fearful even in sleep. On the table beside her, she saw his gold shield, along with what looked like at least three quarters of Honeydukes sweetshop from down in the village. There were other items from a place she didn't recognize called Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes. Other gifts, Muggle baskets and boxes from names she recognized from Bobby's conversations with her at Carmel Ridge with promises to see him as soon as possible, were positioned around the table awaiting his attention. A watery smile came to her face.

"All for you, my baby boy," Frances whispered. "All for you."

Bobby's body flinched and stilled before his head slowly emerged from underneath the sheets. His dark eyes widened and she felt tears slide down her face.

"Hello, my darling," she whispered, slowly reaching up to sweep a sweaty lock of hair from his tearstained and red-eyed face.

"M-Mom...you...what're—"

"Shh, sweetie," she admonished gently, barely able to hear him. "Don't talk. Let Madam Pomfrey give you something for your throat but, until then, don't talk. I'm here."

"The Au-rors—"

Frances pressed her fingers to his lips to silence him. "I need you to hush, my dear. I'm not going anywhere. Moody and Dawlish are right outside. We're safe here."

Bobby started to shake his head, bringing his hands up from underneath the covers to begin what she immediately recognized as signing, but Frances leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him. He collapsed back against his pillow and she held on. She could feel the heat of his tears soaking into her gown as he shook and wished for all the world that she could make his pain stop for once instead of intensifying it.

"We're safe, little one," she whispered, calling him that for the first time in forever. It had been a laughably long time since that term had applied to him in any way, shape, or form but she didn't care.

He was her son, she was his mother, and that was all that mattered then.

…TBC…


	16. And I Saw God Cry…

**Ominous  
**_By __Angelfirenze_

**Disclaimer: **Duh. Also, a lyric from 'This Is the Night' by 'The Weird Sisters' from the _Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire_ soundtrack, another from 'Ways and Means' by Snow Patrol from their album **Final Straw**, and a quote from _Little Miss Sunshine_.

**Summary:** Whatever happens, happens. ::gives muse richly deserved scowl::

**Inspiration:** An idea that has been broached in other Harry Potter fics, but not in this manner, I believe. The above movie's opening scene, if not for the same reason. The movies_ Finding Forrester _and _Stranger__ Than Fiction._ American Sign Language. 'Broken' by Seether, featuring Amy Lee. Discussions over Severus Snape and Albus Dumbledore's motives (sure to be renewed by certain recent news reports...) and their impacts on the wizarding world. Ron being the world's largest prat to Hermione and my urge to hold forth about it for hours at a time...

**Dedications: **To blucougar57, who put me through all this emotional turmoil and still stuck around to beta the last chapter, not to mention reading this fic ever since its inception;

**Rating: M**, for the obvious reasons.

**Notes: **Remember that episode where we found out about Bobby's father's gambling habits and his friend, Ferdie? Yeah, pretend that particular episode never happened. I should have said the previous chapter would have very mild, barely noticeable spoilers for 'Silencer'. This one has a lot more.

Part XV: And I Saw God Cry in the Reflection of My Enemies…

"I'm so glad you're still here," his mother whispered, her hand coming to slide gently over his hair. "You need—"

**Glamours**, Bobby signed, interrupting her, and Frances stared at him.

The hospital wing was flooded with the sunlight filtering through the curtains covering the windows. Bobby was propped up on a mass of pillows, his hands previously balled into fists as he stared at the many bandages covering his arms and torso. He lifted his fingers to his face and looked at his mother.

"Why do you want to know about glamours?" Frances asked, a tendril of fear coming up to curl around her heart like Devil's Snare, giving it a tight squeeze.

**I'm not…** His hands faltered and Bobby frowned and looked down. Frances saw a tear wend its way down his face and her hand came to cover her mouth again. **What do I really look like, Mom?**

Frances felt her eyes widen and glanced over to where Alexandra was still sleeping. Madam Pomfrey had given her a Dreamless Sleep potion and she had been doing so for several hours now.

"You know what you look like, baby," she said, her voice shaky, but Bobby stared at her, a furious expression coming over his face.

"Wha—" he tried to begin to say, but Frances placed her hand over his mouth.

"What did I say about talkin', huh?" she asked sternly. "Sign all you want, Robert, but do not talk."

Bobby fumed silently for a moment, gripping the fresh bedsheets Madam Pomfrey had supplied earlier that morning.

**What do I look like, Mom? And don't tell me I know what I look like because it's not true.**

She'd been on the point of telling him exactly that, but took a deep breath, trying to fight back the tears that now threatened.

"What does it matter?" she asked him, though she already knew the answer. "You look like your dad—"

**HE'S NOT MY DAD! I don't have a—**

Frances grabbed his hands, then, her eyes widening. "Robert Goren," she hissed, glancing over to make sure she didn't wake Alexandra. "Don't you ever say that—you hear me? You have a father. Anthony loved you."

**You didn't...** Bobby's hands fell into his lap as he started to sob once more. Frances wrapped her arms around his neck and brought his face down to her neck. She could feel him shuddering with the effort of suppressing his cries. She could feel him shaking his head in her shoulder and wanted nothing more than to make his doubt go away. She let her own tears fall because she knew she couldn't.

* * *

Snape sat before Potter, his dark eyes hooded as he sipped a cup of tea. He placed it on the small service tray beside him and surveyed the boy. His eyes were tired, his face pale, but his posture was ramrod straight and Snape could see he was trying to pretend he wasn't completely exhausted. He would save _that_ little tirade for later. Now was time for business. Before he, himself, lost his nerve. 

"Do you understand why you are here, Potter?" he asked softly, watching as Potter's eyes—Lily's eyes—darkened and the boy scowled.

"You're meant be giving me extra lessons on Occlumency, aren't you?"

Snape frowned and lifted his wand, giving it a succinct flick toward the fireplace, which burst into flame. "No, I am not. As I explained in the headmaster's office, you already know _how_ to Occlude others. From hence, I merely expect you to do so at necessary moments."

"Necessary moments?" Potter asked, frowning. Then his hand came to run a finger over his scar. "You mean like when I have one of Voldemort's mood swings."

Snape shut his eyes for a moment at the mention of the Dark Lord's name, but otherwise gave no reaction. Dumbledore had drilled it into the boy's head that he was not to be afraid of saying the name and though Snape longed to remind Potter that he was not the headmaster and not nearly so powerful or...well, that was a moot train of thought, he realized, frowning.

"Yes, Potter. That is the general idea. Treat those same moments with the same determination you put forth toward protecting those who have hurt you from those who would help—"

"Help?" Potter asked suddenly, his eyes darkening further, his mouth curling into a scowl and slightly baring straight white teeth. "Sending me back there every year, back to getting stared at and lied to and blamed for—"

"I told you to stop interrupting me, Potter," he said firmly but quietly, flicking his wand again and Vanishing the tea service save for Potter's unfinished cup. "You will not be going back to Surrey, the headmaster has assured you and your..." Here he paused. "Uncle as much. For five years previous, however, you have made it a point not to let anyone know why your uniform, until quite recently, was the only decent set of clothing you owned. Have made excuse upon excuse for every bruise, every cut—no, you did not tell anyone and that is the point. Blood wards or no, the headmaster would never have sent you back to your Muggle relatives if he'd known how they truly treat you."

"So you're saying it's my fault?" Potter shot back, launching himself out of his chair and standing before Snape now with his wand in his hand, breathing deeply.

"Did I say it was your fault?" Snape asked, narrowing his eyes at Potter and resisting the urge to yell once again. "Sit. Down."

Potter lowered himself back into his chair and sat forward with his hands in front of him, choosing now to twirl his wand in his hand rather than look Snape in the face.

"Do not misunderstand me, Potter," Snape continued, staring at the unruly mass of black hair that fell into the boy's face, obscuring his eyes. "You are impudent, reckless, and completely oblivious to the lengths gone to keep you alive. You are also extremely powerful, whether you believe as much or not. You have potential that, until now, you have seen fit to ignore. You have been trained to underperform and I aim to reverse that tendency. You put only as much effort into your homework as you think will get you by. The result is mediocre and I will not stand for it, not when you stood in my laboratory your very first lesson and took note of everything I said."

Potter's face shot up at the recollection and the boy frowned even further. "Right before you took the—"

"Do not swear in my presence, Mr. Potter. Same as your lack of effort, I will not stand for it. Understood?"

Potter sighed. "Yes, sir."

"You were tested earlier this summer in your Potions Ordinary Wizarding Level. Do you remember the potion you were asked to brew?"

Potter thinks for a moment, trailing the handle of his wand over the palm of his non-dominant hand. "Some sort of healing potion. I think it was Skele-Gro."

Potter then made a face and touched his right arm with a scowl.

"I had to take it after Lockhart took all the bones out of my arm in second year. Ghastly stuff, that."

"Yes, well," Snape said, careful to keep his face blank. Any mention of that idiotic fraud was more than enough. "You were able to brew it quite effortlessly."

Potter responded seemingly before he could stop himself, "Yeah, well, not having you there breathing down my neck helped plenty."

His face immediately crumpled and Snape watched as Potter grit his teeth. Potter raised his head, unable to meet Snape's eyes. "Sorry, professor." He sounded sincere, of all things.

Snape eyed him evenly. "Why do you think I push all of you in such a way?"

"Because you enjoy it," Potter answered honestly, the frown coming back to his face. "You called Hermione an insufferable know-it-all for answering a simple question that you set no one in particular. You send Neville into hysterics just for bloody fun!"

Potter leapt his feet again. "That day in fourth year, when Malfoy and I cursed each other and they bounced off the walls and Hermione's teeth grew too big to fit in her mouth…"

Potter was shaking with rage now, his eyes burning at a spot on the floor, his breath coming in rapid bursts. "You said you saw no difference."

Snape blinked slowly, the day Potter referenced clear in his mind as though it were yesterday. He felt a peculiar burning sensation on the back of his neck.

"You…terrorize the very kids you claim to be trying to help. You treat everyone like—they're not me, they don't look like my dad. You have no excuse, since you want to talk."

Snape felt his eyes slide shut, clenching his teeth slightly and breathing deeply before opening his eyes again.

"Perhaps you are not the only one incapable of discerning one time in your life from another."

Potter looked at him in surprise then, that familiar expression of confusion coming back. Snape wished he would turn away.

"Why did you try to save my life so many times," Potter asked him now, his voice quiet. "Since you hate me so much. Professor Dumbledore said that first year was so that you could go back to hating my dad's memory in peace. I can understand that. But what about the rest? What about that time in the forest, when Professor Lupin forgot to take his potion and transformed. You jumped in front of the three of us even though we'd just Stunned you on...even though we'd just Stunned you together."

"I _do_ care for the students in this school, Potter," Snape said, now feeling strangely tired. "I would never...I could never..."

Potter nodded then, though he didn't know why. "When we were getting my things from the Dursleys—"

And here Snape snorted, giving the fire a filthy look. Potter hesitated for a moment before continuing.

"Uncle Bobby...he told me that even though they knew I couldn't perform magic outside school, the Dursleys were still afraid of me. Because I can do something they can't. I have..."

And here a bitter smile came across Potter's face. One he'd never seen on either of his parents.

"A power they know not. And so, they...they tried to control me because they thought that if they could make themselves feel safe around me, then they could pretend that everything that happened was...I don't know...all in my head or something. That they really had no reason to fear me and could do anything they wanted to me because I wasn't really the threat they imagined."

"You are _not_ any threat," Snape told him then, turning to look Potter straight in his eyes. "Not to them. You are an innocent boy. You would not hurt those who have given you reason to care for them and who care for you in turn. You would not even harm an enemy. It is your first thought to Disarm rather than injure…even whilst battling the Dark Lord."

Potter sighed then, his hands balling into fists. "That wasn't being high-minded. That was the only thing I'd learned about dueling back then."

"What is that on your hand?"

Potter froze momentarily, confused at the change in direction. Then he looked at his right hand. Uncle Bobby had noticed the scars right away, as well. His reasons for hiding them.

"Detentions with Umbridge. She made me used some kind of quill. It didn't use ink. It used—"

"A blood quill," Snape breathed, his eyes riveted to the words. "Give me your hand."

Potter looked at him apprehensively now, backing away a few centimeters. "It's alright. Hermione gave me bowls of murtlap essence to soak it in—"

"Potter. Give me your hand." Snape watched, bile or dread filling his stomach—he couldn't tell which—as Potter slowly presented his balled fist for inspection.

_I shall not tell lies._ Written in what he readily recognized as Potter's own handwriting.

"You did not report this to the headmaster."

"I already had this conversation with Uncle Bobby," Potter said, now sounding exasperated. "You're as good a Legilimens as he is. You know why I didn't."

Snape scowled and got to his own feet, going to the fireplace and reaching for a handful of Floo Powder to toss into the flames.

"Professor, no!" Potter burst out, his arm darting out to close around Snape's wrist. "Don't."

Snape stared at him in open astonishment. "A certified Dark Artifact was used upon you by Dolores Umbridge and you don't want the headmaster to know?"

"No, I don't," Potter answered instantly, an obstinate expression on his face. "Do you want everyone seeing your Dark Mark?"

Snape stared at Potter, his mind reeling at the audacity of this boy.

"Those two circumstances are of absolutely no relevance to one another, Potter, now let—"

"No. Look, it's over. She's never coming back, is she? And I'm never going back to the Dursleys. There's no use—"

"If you tell me there is no use looking after the welfare of a student in this school, Potter, I shall put you in a Body-Bind and Floo you into the headmaster's office, myself. Your uncle may not have insisted that you reveal this to the headmaster—for what reason I cannot even fathom—"

"It was more important to save Dudley's life," Potter snapped. "After that, I forgot. I guess he did, too."

Snape favored him with a long, measuring expression. "I know for a fact that your uncle has not forgotten any of it."

Harry returned it with a sidelong glance. "Oh yeah? Why not?"

"Because people such as your uncle who would shed their own blood to give you protection—a blood connection I now understand goes full-circle with each of your specific connections to the Dark Lord—would never label a detail such as this as beneath his notice. You are not of true blood relation to your uncle, that is correct, but the mere fact that he regards you more family than your actual blood relatives—the fact that he loves you as he does and receives the same from you in return...he will never forget that you have been harmed in such a way. He will never forget the sight of that cupboard you were kept in, as though you were nothing more than a piece of old furniture waiting to be discarded. He will never forget any injustice done to those closest to him, just as you do not."

Potter was pale and breathing shallowly now. "You saw my cupboard?"

"Yes, Potter, I did. Your muggle relatives certainly did not bother to cover up the fact that you had ever lived in there. Even the bedroom they kept you in afterward shows no real sign of your habitation. Everything you have ever owned fit into your school trunk. The rest of it was rubbish and it was none of yours. Even as they prolonged your existence, your relatives—particularly your uncle—made sure that no one knew of it. They were certain that as long as you were out of the way, they could pretend that you were not a part of their daily lives. How did they explain your long absences during your previous terms here?"

Potter was standing with his head down, his hands balled into fists again, his eyes clenched shut.

"St. Brutus' Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys."

His voice was so quiet that Snape barely heard it, even in the complete silence of the dungeons. Potter was shivering now, having discarded the hooded sweatshirt he had brought down here once they'd begun talking. Wordlessly, Snape Summoned the sweatshirt and held it out to him.

"You are cold. Put this on and stand closer to the fire." He cast a warming charm on Potter--Harry's cup of tea and it steamed anew. "Take the tea with you."

Harry looked up again, blinking hard. He reached out and took the sweatshirt, pulling it over his head and arms, picked up the cup and drank from it, then went to stand before the brightly lit flames as he was told.

* * *

Alex felt her blood run cold as Frances Goren translated what Bobby was signing. Tears were flowing down his mother's face, but Bobby looked determined. 

"I want—" Frances held back a sob and turned to hurl a nasty look at a grave and stricken Dumbledore, who stood beside Bobby's bed. "To know what I really look like. I don't look like my fath—like Anthony Goren. Not really."

Alex felt her heart hitch in her throat and glanced at Dumbledore, herself. Bobby's brother was sitting in another chair by Bobby's bed, ashen and pale, he lifted his own hands and began signing to Bobby, himself, but Bobby's face became an expression of anger and frustration. He brought his hands together with a smacking sound.

**No.**

"What d'ya mean, 'no'?" Nick asked, his voice rising even though he didn't mean to yell. "You're Robert Goren! You know who the hell you—"

"Don't swear, Anthony," Frances snapped, giving him a glare. Anthony flung his hands up in the air.

"Why do you want to change how you look, anyway, huh? What's wrong with—?"

Bobby's hands moved in a slow deliberate pattern, each word punctuated carefully.

**It's. A. Lie.**

Bobby looked at Dumbledore, then, taking in the miserable expression on the old man's face. _Take them off_, he mouthed carefully, trying to make sure Dumbledore understood him.

Dumbledore's eyes closed and slowly reopened. He breathed deeply before starting to walk forward.

"Bobby," Alex pleaded desperately. "You saw what that...what he looked like. You _know_."

Bobby shook his head fiercely, gesturing toward his mother, who shook her head before letting it fall forward in defeat. "He didn't look like that back then. Whatever he looks like now...that's decades of Dark Magic. He may not be human now, but he was, then...at least, outwardly."

Dumbledore nodded and raised his wand, giving it a twirl. A handheld mirror with a pearl handle appeared out of thin air and lowered itself into Bobby's lap. Bobby picked it up, his mouth set in a resolute frown. The beard growth that had grown over the past few days had been magically shaved off by Madam Pomfrey earlier that morning and he could see the faint remnants of the bruises that had covered his face. He looked down at his bandaged torso before touching his throat.

"Do it," he whispered, and Dumbledore began moving his wand in a complicated fashion, drawing what looked like runes in the air around Bobby's body. Out of the corner of his eye, Bobby could see Madam Pomfrey's own eyes widening and heard several collective gasps. In front of him, his mother stifled a sob, reaching out to touch his face before recoiling a second later. Nick was staring, too, his mouth slightly open and his face deathly white. To his left, he heard Alex shudder.

Breathing deeply and closing his eyes, Bobby took hold of the mirror and lifted it to his face. As soon as his arms left his sides, the bandages around his chest started to slip. Apparently, he'd shrunk. He opened his eyes and felt his entire body spasm as an unrecognizable face stared back at him.

This man was much thinner, more along the lines of his brother and mother, with straight black hair that fell around his forehead instead of curling back like it previously had. His eyes, too, were very different. Instead of the soft brown he'd known all his life, they were now slate grey and narrower. He looked at the hand holding the mirror and noticed that it was smaller...more streamlined, whereas his...old hands were large and awkward. He touched a hand to his straighter right shoulder and flinched at the scratch that was still healing there. His bandages had slipped to fall down around his waist and the fabric of his pajamas—now too large for him—rubbed painfully against them.

He looked at Alex, saw her wide eyes and the horror in them. He took a deep breath, wincing at the pain that lanced through his chest, and looked back down at his lap.

The mirror sat on top of his bedsheets, still except for the rise and fall of his body's breath. Grey eyes just peeked at him from behind jet black hair that had gone grey around his ears.

_Well_, he thought miserably. _At least that hasn't changed._

"Those bandages need to be redone before—"

"No," Bobby whispered, his wide _grey_ eyes locked on his countenance as though he couldn't look away. No. Not 'as though'. He _couldn't_. "Put them back."

"Detective—"

Bobby opened his mouth as though he wanted to yell, but snapped it shut at the last moment and glanced at the three people around his bed, thinking of _Harry_, before staring directly into Madam Pomfrey's eyes. He lifted these new, strange hands and signed slowly and deliberately again. **Put. ****Them.**** Back.**

Professor Dumbledore sighed inwardly, an indescribably expression on his face, before moving forward once again and repeating his earlier actions. Bobby shuddered again, the bandages squeezing into his wounds again and he removed the now bloody pajama shirt the nurse had dressed him in while he lay unconscious. He looked in the mirror again and saw himself. Saw his...father...and took a halting breath.

"Leave," he whispered to Professor Dumbledore, who merely nodded and backed away, allowing Madam Pomfrey to come forward and care for her charge. In her arms was a new pair of pajamas. It was obvious to Bobby that she wanted him to change.

The headmaster left without another word. Alex gave Bobby a fleeting glance before scrambling out of her bed and running after him.

Bobby watched her leave, an absolutely wretched expression on his face at the memory of her reaction to...Stephen Riddle. He sat numbly as Madam Pomfrey pulled the partition around his bed and set about cleaning and bandaging his wounds. He never noticed the tears sliding down his face.

* * *

Alex ran as fast as she could to get to the headmaster, grabbing his arm and turning him roughly around, wishing like never before that she had her gun here in her hand rather than in her room at the apartment where both hers and Bobby's had been locked since their abrupt return to the school. 

"Who the hell do you think you are?" she hissed, tightening her grip on Professor Dumbledore's arm and relishing his subsequent flinch. "Playing with Harry and Bobby's lives like they're fucking hand puppets?"

Professor Dumbledore took a deep breath and leveled weary blue eyes at bright brown ones plainly wishing to set him aflame.

"Detective Eames, if I could have prevented events from unfolding as they have for so long, I would. You have no idea..."

The headmaster took a deep breath and leaned back against the wall, his hand coming to cover his face. "The night..." he seemed unable to continue on that particular track and tried again. "That night, Frances came to me—she was in hysterics...she told me of her husband, of her eldest son...she begged me to help keep them safe. She knew Voldemort would have them killed without a thought—that if what she feared came to pass, which...it did—he would take the son he believed to be his...rightful heir—"

And here Dumbledore's face flashed with an uncharacteristically ugly expression. "His _property_. Robert Goren would not have existed. The rest of her family would have been brutally massacred. She could not allow that to happen. I spoke to her husband, myself, and explained the circumstances. In the end, Anthony agreed. When the child—Bobby—was born, I was contacted and Apparated to New York a few days hence. Robert was five days old when I first placed those glamours upon him. His brother has no memory of me, I am sure of it. I came in the middle of the night and Frances had been certain to give him a Sleeping Draught in a glass of warm milk. Robert was but an infant, of course, but his resemblance to his birth father was already quite obvious to those who had known him. Most spells, curses, even glamours...wear off after a time. It was imperative that this one grow _with _Bobby, maintain its strength, so that even as Bobby grew into a man, he would resemble his adoptive father. As for the Fidelius Charm, that was cast that night, as well. As long as I did not reveal Bobby's existence, no one knew of it. No magical school contacted him. He did not exist in our world and Frances was completely untraceable. But I did not take into account Bobby's magical strength, nor his intelligence. He has many gifts from as many different sources...but I am certain that until you came into his life..."

And here Dumbledore locked those eyes on her and she felt as though he were seeing into every inch of her being. "He did not know or understand what it was like to be truly cared for, to be valued. His mother had not been able to care for him, the Dark Magic that has been performed on her eventually breaking her mind, however temporarily. Anthony Goren, Sr. fostered in Robert's older brother a dislike of his younger half-sibling that the younger Anthony has managed by now to overcome...I suppose it was a means of trying to protect his son from one whom he felt might someday succumb to the darkness inherent in his origins."

Alex swallowed, trying to rid herself of the lump forming in her throat, and glared at the ground. "That doesn't excuse anything that bastard did to Bobby. He was just a kid. That's like trying to defend the Dursleys."

"I assure you," Dumbledore affirmed, his voice now heavy with both anger and regret. "There is no justification for anything that has been done to any of those who seem to find their way into my charge. But however much I wanted to personally interfere on their behalves, I could not. I have not...nor will I ever...trust myself not to shape something so malleable as a child's soul into a caricature of my own."

And here Alex stared at him, dumbfounded. "You felt they were _safer_ away from you?"

"Of that," Dumbledore stated plainly. "I have no doubt. I am not to be trusted with power, Alexandra. That is an understanding I was long ago forced to come to. Bobby will have his own conclusion to reach, now, and you and Harry must help him."

"Help him what?" Alex asked, suddenly remembering she was gripping his arm and letting go. Her own arm felt limp and bloodless.

"Remember who he is. And that he is loved. I daresay he will need you now more than ever."

Professor Dumbledore offered Alex a handkerchief and she wiped her eyes with it, wishing it were Bobby offering instead.

"He trusts you like no other. Never forget that."

Alex nodded and, at Dumbledore's mild urging, turned to go back to the Hospital Wing.

* * *

Potions Dungeons  
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  
Hogsmeade, Scotland  
3:49 pm 

Draco twirled his wand in his hand as he strode toward Professor Snape's classroom as he'd done countless times previously. He realized, however, that he had never done it under the present circumstances. His father had always sent him to relay and receive information on the Dark Lord's behalf. He was going there now without a specific purpose in mind and the idea of it was enough to make him want to turn and leave. Still, he kept his feet moving forward in an effort not to lose his nerve.

He knocked twice on the door and waited with mounting nerves as Professor Snape's voice sounded from the other side.

"Enter."

Draco pushed the heavy wooden door open to find the Potions master seated at his desk, an old book laid open before him on the table. He was holding his wand and the book was smoking faintly, the air in the room filled with the fading odor of burning parchment. Professor Snape closed the book and placed it in a drawer before steepling his fingers and giving Draco an appraising look.

Draco knew better than to believe Snape was looking after his health.

"Draco," Snape said quietly, those dark eyes boring into his own before taking in the clothing the Grangers had bought him. "You are not here to simper and fawn upon me. That is a first."

Draco felt the back of his neck burn, but ignored the slight jibe. Nodding, he walked forward to stand near the desk.

"I am not here at my father's behest, sir. He has disowned me." Then he smiled bitterly at the Potions master. "Though it isn't as if you didn't know that. You've known for the last two weeks."

Professor Snape nodded and raised an eyebrow. "He cursed you quite heavily, no doubt. I had a fair list from Madam Pomfrey, most of which aren't revelations. I believe she probably felt it easier to list the curses he _hasn't_ used on you."

Draco scowled, rubbing the old scar on his eyebrow where his father had nicked him with an Incinerating Curse. He'd been nine by then and very good at ducking.

Not good enough at that point, though.

Draco dug his hands into the pockets of his new jeans, feeling the rough stiffness of denim not yet broken in, completely at a loss for what to say for the first time in his life.

"You do not know what you want to do right now," Professor Snape said quietly, those familiar black eyes boring into him like the thumbscrews his father had liked to torment the old house elf with. He fought the urge to frown and found his gaze lowering to the floor against his will.

"Look at me, Draco," Professor Snape said in that voice so similar yet so different from his father's. "You and the Weasley girl. Your intentions toward her..."

Draco felt his breath hitch in his throat and his eyes widen. "Please," he whispered before he could stop himself. "You mustn't tell my father—please, you have to help me protect her."

At this Professor Snape laughed sardonically and gave Draco a grim smile. "My dear Mr. Malfoy, I believe you to be mistaken if you think Ms. Weasley needs any protection from you, well-placed as your intentions may be. You forget that she was taught by Mr. Potter, himself, who I'm sure you know perfectly well is one of the most formidable Defense Against the Dark Arts students in this school. He soundly outscored Ms. Granger in the first time they both sat the final exam, and again this past year. He achieved an 'Outstanding' in that Ordinary Wizarding Level. I assure you, while that miscreant Delores Umbridge thought herself and the Minister undermining his ability to defend himself or anyone else, Harry Potter made absolutely certain that was not the case. I believe you, yourself, were a victim of your Ms. Weasley's Bat Bogey Curse last year?"

Draco felt himself flushing red, remembering his role in the Inquisitorial Squad from the previous year, and felt himself shudder, the memory of his own voice as he screamed for Professor Umbridge after cornering Potter in that hallway...

"I didn't want...I couldn't..."

"You cannot throw off the Imperius Curse as Potter can," Professor Snape said plainly. "You were—are...under Lucius Malfoy's—and, indeed, the Dark Lord's thumb, completely and utterly."

"NO, I'M NOT!" Draco burst out suddenly, his chest heaving with the effort and the wand in his hand spraying a shower of silver sparks.

He stared at Professor Snape then, expecting fully to be cursed to within an inch of his life.

He did not expect the grim smile he received or the Calming Draught he was then plied with.

"Why are you doing this?" he whispered, seated with folded legs on top of the table he usually occupied with any of Parkinson, Crabbe, or Goyle...until recently. He was clutching a second helping of Calming Draught in his hands and looked up from it to see Professor Snape perched on the edge of his desk. "You're a Death Eater like him. I don't...I don't understand."

"There are many things you have never thought to consider," his Head of House said calmly. "Even when your father told you it would be prudent to pretend to like Potter—to befriend him...you did not."

"I did try!" Draco protested, a defiant expression coming to his face. "I—"

"Insulted those he'd come to consider at least companionable acquaintances, played the part of his superior, though you had not—and still have not—proven to be so in any arena outside of Potions."

"Well!" Draco grasped, setting the mug down and coming to stand before Professor Snape's desk again. "Well, what about that? I'm better--"

"You daft little boy," Professor Snape whispered, his eyes narrowing, and Draco's breath hitched again. "Even _that_ slight advantage has proven to be questionable. You are not better than anyone. You are not worse than anyone. Yours is not at all the only perspective in the world. It isn't even a common one. At the present time, you are _no one_."

Draco backed away, feeling the faint flames of anger coming to smolder in his veins. "You dare—"

"I _what_?" Snape asked, his brow raised and voice no louder than a whisper now. "You_ have_ no identity outside of the one crafted for you by your sociopathic murderer of a father yet you presume that _I dare_…?"

"You're no better than..." Draco started to say, but the words wouldn't come. The weight he felt building in his chest ever since he'd first opened the door to this place was now threatening to overwhelm him. He heard the cry tearing forth from his throat before he registered whom it belonged to. He was crying for the first time in his life.

Hands came to grip his arms before a cold hand lifted his chin and those black eyes peered down through the blurriness of his tears. His eyes burned and he longed to leave, to run, but he couldn't. The lingering injuries from his last encounter with his father made certain of that.

"Before you can decide to act for others, Mr. Malfoy," Snape told him quietly. "You must decide to act for _yourself_. Only then will you be able to understand what it is to care for others, to be your own man. To have an identity outside of a caricature. Before you can see whom Ginevra Weasley is, whom Harry Potter is...you must know who Draco Malfoy is. What he wants. What he is capable of. What his passions and interests are. You must discover your personality."

Draco backed away and curled up miserably back on the desk he'd vacated. The beaker of Calming Draught was smashed on the floor and Professor Snape cleared the mess away with a wave of his wand.

"Who picked out your clothing? Your _new_ clothing, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco started slightly before gazing down at the denim jeans he was wearing, the red button down over a black t-shirt with a muggle design that looked as though it had been purposely worn and faded. His shoes were sneakers, soft and comfortable. Mrs. Granger had insisted he pick them out, himself, asking him what he thought looked nice. Which t-shirt designs he'd liked. He'd been overwhelmed with the idea of a choice. Grang—Hermione and her brother had stepped in to assist him, proffering shirts and helping him understand the concept of off-the-rack sizing.

"I did," he said quietly. "Hermione and Holden...and their mother helped. I didn't know what to do. Which to pick."

Professor Snape nodded as though this were ordinary business. "Have you ever listened to music, Mr. Malfoy?"

"My fa—" Draco cut himself short again. "I wasn't allowed a Wireless. Muggle contraptions forced on us. We were better than that."

Professor Snape snorted and, to Draco's amazement, rolled his eyes. "Your father attended the Yule Ball in my fourth year, Draco. He cannot dance. Your mother might has well have been dragging the bust of Paracelsus around the Great Hall floor."

Draco laughed then, surprising himself, and feeling relief flood through him as Professor Snape's amused smile broadened a bit. He watched as his Potions Master strode off into what Draco knew was his chambers, returning with a Wireless. "You attended the Yule Ball in your own fourth year."

Draco nodded. "Pansy wanted me to dance with her, but I told her I'd rather get a laugh at Patil dragging Potter around. He can't dance, either."

"You and he have more in common than either of you think. Your problem, Mr. Malfoy, is that unlike Mr. Potter or Ms. Lovegood or even Mr. Longbottom, you have not learned that there are more important things in life than how others see your public face. You have not learned that you are _more_ than your public face."

Professor Snape tapped the Wireless with his wand and Draco heard a staticky sound before the notes to a song he vaguely recognized from the Yule Ball carried clearly through the dungeon.

_…There's __somethin__' out there and it don't seem very friendly, does it? If I could help you, I would help you, but it's difficult…There's something much more powerful than both of us possessing me…_

He gave it another tap and this time a song he didn't recognize at all began to play.

_…Maybe I could do it if I put my back into it, I can leave you if I want to, but there's no where else that I can go…Maybe I won't suffer, I can find a way to love her, I'd be lying to myself, but there is no way out that I can see..._

"Who are they?" Draco asked, as Professor Snape lowered the volume.

"One was a Wizarding band, as I think you may remember. The other is a Muggle band from Northern Ireland. At least, that was what Potter told me when he was here last evening."

At Draco's questioning look, Snape elaborated. "He has an impressive memory for music, though he didn't know it. His...relatives never let him listen to music, either, but he heard it from passing cars. He told me he typed the lyrics into his new computer's search engine and found out they were a Muggle band currently based in Glasgow. I believe he said they were called Snow Patrol. You'll be relieved to know that Potter doesn't have a favorite band either. He's more interested in books now. I suppose his experiences in the last year have finally put an end to that ridiculous spate of underachievement to which we Masters have been subjected to on his behalf."

Then Snape frowned slightly. "Apparently, his uncle's partner told him that Goren never throws any books away. I daresay Ms. Granger will have competition soon, if not already."

Draco only understood part of this monologue, but Snape turned slightly and looked him in the eye. "My point, Mr. Malfoy, is that you will have to become your own person. You have not the mentality, nor the subtlety...to be anything your father might have intended for your future. You will have to forge your own identity. No one can do that for you, not even myself."

Draco nodded, twisting a finger into the hem of his shirt before yanking it out and letting his shirttails hang loose. His father had never permitted what he'd believed to be slovenliness. Draco felt a small thrill of rebellion inside and on another impulse, raked his hand through his neatly parted hair.

"Hermione's parents took us to see what they called a 'movie' for her brother's birthday. She told me there were a lot of them—different kinds. That Muggles have been making them for nearly a century."

Professor Snape nodded. "This is not my area of expertise, Mr. Malfoy. You would be better off asking Mr. Potter, Ms. Granger, or her brother. Possibly even the detectives. They live regularly in the Muggle world, whereas I spend the majority of the year here or in the Dark Lord's company. I am of no use to you in leisurely pursuits."

Draco leaned back and lay on the table, staring at the stone ceiling high above. "Ginny said they were my friends. Pot—Harry said that the thing he was riding…I think he called it a skate…something...wasn't a toy. He rode it almost like a broomstick. Except he does things you can't do on a broomstick."

He smiled slightly then. "On the way back in from over by...Professor Hagrid's cabin a few days ago, he jumped up and used it to slide up one of the banisters leading into the castle. I thought he'd fall, but he didn't. Instead he landed on his hands and leaned over onto one of them, grabbing the...skate-thing…before rolling onto his back. He had this huge grin on his face. I've only ever seen him smile like that when he's playing Quidditch. Even when we were mocking the Gryffindors in the stands."

Professor Snape nodded as though this, too, was common knowledge. "He has found activities that make him happy. You are on the Quidditch team because your father demanded it. You've never beaten Potter."

Draco frowned, thinking of the captain's badge sitting on his nightstand in the apartment he again shared with Harry and his...family.

"Do you actually _want _to play Quidditch, Mr. Malfoy?"

Almost automatically, Draco went to say, 'of course', but paused. The only thing he'd ever accomplished while playing Quidditch against P—Harry was detention, humiliation, feelings of inadequacy, and overwhelming pressure. He couldn't once remember actually enjoying a game.

"But I'm captain," he said softly, lifting himself onto his shoulders. "I have to play."

"Who says that? What hold do your Housemates exert over you that you would forsake yourself for a _game_ you do not and have not ever enjoyed?"

"You always taught us to be loyal to our House, Professor. I have to--"

"You do not _have_ to do anything. You are not the first Slytherin not to play Quidditch. Or to _not want_ to play Quidditch. If you believe House loyalty boils down to your performance in a sport at the expense of yourself and your time better spent at pursuits that will actually provide you with a future, given your disinclination...then I have failed you."

Draco stared into the face of his...mentor...and was astonished to see bitterness and regret where he'd only previously seen...what _had_ he seen? It was clear enough already that the professor he thought he knew was nothing of the sort of man he'd believed him to be.

"You didn't..." He felt his voice peter out again and sighed before he realized it. "You told me I'm good at Potions."

"I want you to give this _thought_, Draco. Stop trying to do what you think will make those you believe superior to you pleased." And Professor Snape, himself, sighed. "House rivalries have obscured more than a thousand years' worth of knowledge of what a true student of this school should be. Prejudices and petty ill-conceived notions have replaced the true intent of what this school was formed to cultivate. Students...in our House, in particular, are more interested in proving their superiority in simply _being a pureblood_ as opposed to actual talent. The Houses—ours more than any other and the others against us—look down upon one another instead of understanding that we would be far better served to work together than to engross ourselves in idiotic escapades that end in tragedy or at the very least mayhem. Crabbe and Goyle are pureblooded, Mr. Malfoy. Do you see either one of them becoming anything worthwhile when they couldn't even pass their O.W.L.s?"

Draco goggled at him now, blinking in shock. "I..."

"They follow your lead without thought, do they not?" Snape asked, his eyebrow raised again. Draco nodded. "And what use, exactly, do you have for _cronies_ who haven't the brains to learn anything? To know anything? If you left them somewhere in your previous home, where do you think they'd be found eventually?"

Draco frowned, swallowing. "Somewhere in the catacombs, probably. Starved to death."

"And exactly what use is that to anyone, least of all themselves? They were written down to attend this school when they were born, yes, as were their parents…but they are by no means of any real intelligence. The Muggle phrase being that they couldn't find their way out of a paper bag. The Weasley twins received three O.W.L.s each, that is true, but it wasn't for lack of intelligence. They have been formulating a plan for their futures for years. It wasn't until this year that they revealed how intelligent, how _cunning_ _and ambitious_ they truly are. Their brother, Percy...he, too, is ambitious. But they are in Gryffindor, are they not?"

"Their whole family has been," Draco said dismissively and Professor Snape gave him a sidelong glance that he didn't see. "That doesn't mean anything--"

"It means _everything_, Draco," Professor Snape said, a slightly cold edge to his voice now. "Hermione Granger would have probably gone into Ravenclaw with a little more prodding. Harry Potter could have gone into any House—he would have fit into any House with little difficulty, even Ravenclaw though he probably does not know that. He was certainly considered for this one."

"He refused it!" Draco said fervently, gripping the now empty mug in his hands. "He could have been one of us--"

"But he met you and saw that you were a snobbish, rude, wholly unpleasant little berk. You, until recently, were quite like his father when we were at Hogwarts."

And now Draco outright goggled at him. "But...but the Potters have all been in Gryffindor for generations! I'm nothing like--"

And here Professor Snape sneered at him once more. "You wouldn't know what James Potter was like at all. Or Sirius Black—whose family, _you may recall_..." and here his voice was deep with sarcasm. "Was in Slytherin for untold generations with _very few_ exceptions. They said the same things about our House that _you _have about Hufflepuff. Does _that_ make you _proud_, Mr. Malfoy? Does that fill you with satisfaction and self-righteousness, because it fills Potter--like it did his mother, who was my best friend for six of the singularly best years of my life--with the utmost revulsion."

To this Draco Malfoy had no reply. Then the rest of Professor Snape's tirade caught up with him. "You were Harry Potter's mother's best friend?"

He received no answer, only the sight of Professor Snape hunching over, burying his hands in his hair.

"Professor?"

"Leave, Draco," came Professor Snape's cold voice from behind those pale hands in the long fringes of black hair. "Come back when you have some sense of who you truly are."

Draco turned on his heel and strode away as quickly as he had come.

...TBC...


	17. Forget the Wrong that I’ve Done

**Ominous  
**_By Angelfirenze_

**Disclaimer: **Duh.  
**Summary:** Whatever happens, happens. ::gives muse richly deserved scowl::  
**Inspiration:** Rereading the series and, most especially, the sixth book. Probably the seventh, too, at this point. The current season of CI. House, seasons one and two. Firefly, the complete series. _Serenity_. All of Bayside's albums. **Minutes to Midnight** by Linkin Park.  
**Dedications: **To everyone who's still reading this after so long. Stupid writer's block.  
**Rating: M**, for the obvious reasons.  
**Notes: **Remember that the CI Year Two episode, 'Mad Hops', for all intents and purposes, didn't happen.

Part XVI: Forget the Wrong that I've Done

Draco Malfoy stepped hesitantly onto the first step of what he now knew to be the headmaster's office. He knew that Harry was well-acquainted with the interior of the room he would be arriving in shortly, but he couldn't say the same for himself, having never thought he needed reason to see it before now.

Draco laughed bitterly to himself, gripping his wand in his pocket. He seemed to be thinking that a lot lately, didn't he?

He'd been on his way back to the flats he shared with Harry and his family when a bit of parchment appeared in the air before him bearing tightly curled handwriting that he didn't recognize. The note had simply said, _I enjoy Canary Creams._

Draco had no idea what Canary Creams were, but decided it was now or never. When the gargoyle statue guarding the doorway to the headmaster's office asked for a password, he glanced doubtfully at the scrap in his hand and said in a voice that shook obviously enough that he winced, "Canary Creams."

The gargoyle moved aside and Draco placed one foot, then the other on the smoothly gliding staircase as it carried him upward. He glanced back in time to see the doorway seal itself seamlessly behind him and swallowed nervously. He reached the door to the office beyond and gave it a tepid knock before cursing himself for his timidity and thrusting it open to find the room empty of the headmaster or anyone else. Draco shot the room a confused look before going to sit in one of the chairs before the headmaster's desk, his gaze involuntarily trailing over all the strange objects in the room whose names he didn't know.

Draco crumpled the parchment in his fist before shoving it into the right pocket of his jeans and gripped the armrests as he resumed gazing around. The paintings of the previous headmasters lining the walls watched him with some interest and he tried to look away before he noticed the painting of Phineas Nigellus, which was staring imperiously down its nose at him.

"Well, well, if it isn't my dear great-great grandson's second cousin? Draco Malfoy, Prince of Slytherin House, say nothing of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black."

Draco couldn't figure out of Phineas was mocking him or not but felt himself bristling. "Your point being?" he shot back in a cold, would be unconcerned tone.

Several of the headmasters and mistresses' faces fell into looks of varying states of disbelief.

"You've made a nice mess of yourself in recent days," Phineas continued, examining the fingernails on his right hand in a supremely bored fashion. "I wouldn't be surprised if someone weren't sent to burn your name right off the family tree."

Draco felt himself freeze before forcing his body back into a more relaxed position. "So what? I'm fine here."

"You don't believe that," Phineas countered softly. "Not truly. And with what reason could you, after Potter and Goren went and got themselves snatched right out of Hogsmeade...and the state they came back in--the Dark Lord wasn't trying to _kill _them, you know. You cannot say the same. Such is the lot--"

"My father threw for me, yes, I know!" Draco burst out, going to pull himself out of the chair before a sharp jab of pain in his chest stopped him. He took a couple of breaths to steady himself as the pain slowly receded before turning to face the portrait again.

"My father this, my father that," Draco seethed, his hands balling into fists and stepping back toward the desk. "I am not my father."

"Figured that out, did you?" Phineas asked him unexpectedly and Draco felt the blood drain from his face. "He didn't bring you up to think, Draco."

"I'm not Crabbe or Goyle, either," Draco snarled, insulted.

"You're offended. Good. You should be," Phineas said loftily, leaning back in his ornate chair. "You think Salazar Slytherin wanted mindless drones to populate his House? Not in the least. It's far more appealing for your father, on the other hand, to control you than for you to do something so inconvenient as _independent thinking_."

Draco stared at the painting of his ancestor, trying to keep his eyes off the other paintings.

"Well, he raised me to be in Slytherin, too. What if I _thought_ I didn't want to be in Slytherin anymore?"

At this Phineas Nigellus looked taken aback. "Why in the world not? Just because--"

"It's what my father wanted, Nigellus," Draco spat, his eyes casting around unconsciously for the Sorting Hat. "He pounded it into me. How about I pound it back out?"

"And just what do you think you'll achieve, throwing everything away as you have?" Phineas called over his shoulder, but Draco ignored him, exclaiming in triumph as his eyes fell on the filthy Sorting Hat sat upon its pedestal. He strode over to it, ignoring the protests in his chest, and picked it up, dropping it on his head.

_Someone's in a stir, aren't they, Mister Malfoy?_

"You put me in Slytherin," Draco said aloud, gripping the rim of the hat and gasping past the stabbing sensation in his chest. "Why?"

_Ever since you've been old enough to think, the only House you've ever thought suitable was Slytherin._

"No," Draco objected sharply, glaring at the inky blackness inside the Hat. "My father trained me. Where do I really want to be?"

_Well,_ the Sorting Hat said and Draco felt a strange sensation flutter through him, as though he could actually hear the hat thinking. _Your actions this summer, defying your father in such a way...bravery I might have expected from a Gryffindor._

"Gryffindor?" Draco asked instantly, distaste in his tone. He growled at himself, giving his head a bit of a shake and trying to ignore the dizziness that swept over him.

_It is but a suggestion, Mr. Malfoy, and one you may take heed to. You are currently surrounded by members of that particular House. Now, as I was saying...your father certainly didn't expect you to challenge him so fiercely--and certainly not so as to directly circumvent his plans for you._

"I don't care about his plans for me," Draco interjected.

_So you've said,_ the Hat answered back, somehow imbuing Draco with the idea that he was being nodded at. _What do you care about?_

"You're the Sorting Hat. You can see into my head."

_I cannot give you a personality, Mr. Malfoy. I can only work with what you show me._

"What if..." and a sick swoop of doubt fell over Draco, leaving him lightheaded. "What if I don't have anything to show you?"

_How little we think of ourselves...I'm seeing so much of that in these usually idle summer months...Mr. Malfoy, I assure you, there's something here._

"How do I find it?" Draco asked, some relief coming to him.

_I'm afraid I can't answer that for you._

"Well, then, what--" then Draco froze. "Wait a minute. I asked a question and you still haven't answered it. I want to know if I belong in Slytherin."

_Do you want to go to a different House? Do you believe I chose wrongly for you?_

"I think you chose what my father wanted."

_Well, you said it yourself, Mr. Malfoy. You don't know what you want._

"I want to be my own person, damn it. I want to not have to worry about my own bloody parents trying to turn me into a murderer at the behest of some psychotic monster whose idea of--I don't _want_ any of that!"

_You are fond of Professor Snape._

"Well, yeah...he..." Draco looked down at his waist and pulled at a loose string on his jeans. It came off in his hand and he began to fidget with it. "He tried to take care of me last year...he told me today that I don't have to play Quidditch just because everyone in...in Slytherin...wants me to. He...cares about me. And everyone in my House."

_You don't want to lose that._

"No...but...he said that if I think that I have to do whatever my Housemates tell me, then he's failed me. He told me to come back when I've figured out who I am--he said that Harry Potter's mother was his best friend!"

_You sound surprised._

"That's because I _am_. She wasn't a Slytherin--he'd've told me."

_Are you certain of that?_

"Today, he would have. He said that they were in different Houses, but that she was his best friend and...but I don't think he'd be upset if I went to a different House. I almost..."

_Think he'd prefer it?_

"Yeah," Draco breathed out, reaching out to grip the edge of the pedestal and trying to steady himself. He felt like he was shaking all over.

_You've already decided that Gryffindor is out of the question._

"I want to be my own person, not my own corpse."

_So certain of that, well, young one--where do _you_ think I should Sort you?_

Draco took a deep breath, trying to breathe past the sudden whoosh of anxiety flowing through him like wind through a doorway.

"I...don't know where else I should go. I have half a mind to say Hufflepuff just because I know it would give my father a heart attack...but Hufflepuffs are known for loyalty. Slytherins are more self-serving than that."

_So sure you wouldn't give anything for anyone else...you have never known attachment?_

"My...parents taught me not to do things like that. Get attached to people."

Draco felt a lurch in his stomach, then, and the thought came unbidden that it had obviously been very easy for them to be so rid of him. They didn't seem to care that he was gone. The only reason his father had every wanted anything to do with him was to sacrifice him to the Dark Lord.

"Why do I have to go into a House anyway?" Draco asked suddenly. He gripped the brim of the Hat and glared into its interior. "What if I refuse--do I have to leave?"

There were several gasps from the paintings lining the walls, but Draco ignored them. "Before I came here, I wasn't Sorted, but my parents molded me into...Professor Snape said I was a caricature. I'd like to try...again. Be re-Sorted at the end of this summer. Is that possible?"

"I believe it's very possible," a deep, quiet voice said and Draco felt the sharp pain in his chest build as he whipped the Sorting Hat off his head.

"Have you been standing there this whole time?" Draco yelled, gasping for breath. His eyes fell upon Professor Dumbledore watching him calmly, though with a look in his eyes that Draco couldn't recognize except that he thinks he's seen it on Bobby's face once or twice and Ginny, Alex, and Nick's faces a lot more often.

"My dear Mr. Malfoy, I believe you have better things to bother with than my position during your conference with the Sorting Hat," Dumbledore said in the same quiet, yet increasingly grave tone. "In reference to your question about re-Sorting, I believe if you had not removed the Sorting Hat when I spoke, you would have heard it tell you that re-Sorting can be done, though it is not usual at all. Then again...yours may present a special case. Are you certain this is what you want?"

Draco nodded, placing the Sorting hat back on its pedestal. "I do."

"Very well," Professor Dumbledore nodded before peering at Draco over the rims of his spectacles. "Are you quite sure you're well, Mr. Malfoy? It is my understanding that you haven't been very diligent about following your instructions from Madam Pomfrey. I believe she has written Professor Snape this very afternoon about your lack of compliance."

Draco frowned defiantly before a tiny voice in the back of his head seemed to remind him that this is what people did when they cared. He sighed, frustrated.

"I suppose not. I...needed to do this, though. I can't go back to Wiltshire, ever. I have to decide what to do next."

"Yes, well, this was an excellent first step, then, wasn't it?" Professor Dumbledore smiled genially down at him. "But I must ask you to go to bed once you leave this office, Mr. Malfoy, and _not_ to leave it unless absolutely necessary. I am more than certain that Madam Pomfrey, should she happen about you, would be livid and rightly so."

Draco rubbed his chest and frowned, noticing that Professor Dumbledore was watching him.

"Bobby's in the Hospital Wing, though. Madam Pomfrey's got her hands full with him."

"And she would doubtless take time for you, should you show up there."

Draco's eyes widened as he thought about how Bobby had looked the last time he'd been there. "I...Bobby needs rest. And his mother..."

"You are making excuses, Mr. Malfoy," Professor Dumbledore said calmly, without judgment. "And they are poor ones, I'm afraid. If you think doing yourself this disservice would help Bobby in any way, you are much mistaken. I will not, however, order you to go to the Hospital Wing. It is entirely under your own power that I will ask you to make the decision to get yourself taken care of properly."

Draco stared, at a loss for words, as Professor Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and placed his now unfolded hands on the desk. He took a deep breath, winced, and nodded.

* * *

"Why you didn't listen to me, I'll never know," Madam Pomfrey told Draco sharply as she thrust a pair of pajamas at him and waited on the other side of the screen for him to change. "You're nearly as bad as Mr. Potter--in fact, I think you may be worse." 

Draco restrained himself from saying anything and concentrated on getting into bed as fast as he could before Madam Pomfrey pulled the screen back and gave him a glare for good measure.

He lay back as she promptly tucked him in and instantly felt himself sinking into the mattress.

"Well, I don't know where that surprised look is coming from, Mr. Malfoy," she all but snapped. "You've been gallivanting around the castle as though you haven't had half your insides incinerated--"

To Draco's left, he heard a gasp and he turned to see Nick staring at him from Bobby's bedside.

"Someone burned you from the inside out?" Nick asked, glancing at his mother, who sighed, herself, and gave Draco a saddened once-over.

"His father," Frances whispered, a tear falling from her already very reddened eyes.

"The maniac who helped--"

"Shh!" Frances urged, glancing at her youngest son, who lay under the influence of several strengthening draughts and other potions she didn't know the name of. Professor Snape was down in the dungeons brewing more as Madam Pomfrey had nearly run through the remainder of her own stores in the three days she'd been here. "Your brother needs rest."

"I'm not being loud, Ma," Anthony complained, but he didn't say anything else for a few moments. "So you're in trouble with her, huh?" he asked quietly, gesturing past Draco toward Madam Pomfrey's office.

Draco frowned, fighting to keep his eyes open. He attempted to shrug but imagined he didn't succeed.

"Yes. It seems that way." Draco blinked again before he noticed that Frances was watching him, a kind yet stern look on her face.

"Draco, go to sleep," she said quietly, yet in a tone that would brook no argument.

"You better do what she says. She's never cursed me, but I've gotten spankings that I still remember."

"Oh, hush, Anthony--I am not going to curse Draco."

"No, you don't have to--he has his sadistic father for that."

"Hush!" Frances urged, glaring at him before returning to look at Draco. "You heard me, Draco."

Draco was too tired to object even a little.

* * *

Severus Snape stood in his chambers, checking the flames burning under the various potions he'd been commissioned for. He felt confident that they would each be ready and waiting when her patients had need for them. No, what he felt uncertain about was the main recipient of the care being given...if he were honest with himself. He understood for the most part that Detective Goren was no danger to those around them, having seen for himself the sheer panic the man descended into when confronted with anything to do with the Dark Lord. Snape frowned, wondering not for the first time, if this wasn't something Dumbledore might have foreseen. Whatever the headmaster had planned for Goren's role in what was unfolding, Snape simply didn't know if it had backfired or not. 

He had to hand it to the manipulative bastard, Snape decided, chuckling despite the dread cementing in his stomach. Only Albus Dumbledore could move lives around more nimbly than pawns on a chessboard, to use that increasingly stale metaphor. Let alone with the knowledge of those he'd been maneuvering, much less with their blessing.

Snape ladled some Restorative Draught into a large flask and stoppered it, setting it over on another counter with several other completed potions. He took a deep breath and turned to his doorway, where Detective Eames stood watching him with a heartbroken expression on her face that she'd plainly given up trying to hide.

"Detective," Snape said quietly, nodding to her before turning back to his work. He expected her to say something, insult him—that was the usual amount of effort they put into conversing with each other—but she said nothing, simply going to sit on a chair next to the door. Snape turned back around and gave her a measured glance.

"Not going to curse my name seven ways from Sunday today?" he deadpanned, slightly gratified without knowing why when a tiny hint of a smirk flashed across her face.

"If my heart's not in it, then I can't enjoy it, Sev. Snark is precious. To waste it is a crime."

Snape bristled slightly at her continued insistence on calling him 'Sev', but simply sighed and went back to what he'd been doing.

"You knew Bobby's brother and his friends," Detective Eames said quietly behind him. "You were all at school together."

Snape frowned before he could stop himself, but continued his stirring nonetheless.

"Bobby wasn't popular as a kid, you know. He was a lot like you. He said that, but you didn't believe him." He could hear anger in her voice now. "Why the hell are you helping him, anyway? How do I know you're not putting some kind of poison in those potions?"

Snape turned around to face her. "Would you like to _try_ some, detective?" he asked in a dangerous tone and Eames bristled in turn, scowling. "I hold no ill will toward your partner for his...brother's actions toward me. I cannot." He sighed. "At any expense, the Dark Lord would certainly destroy me if I _dared_to harm his son."

"Bobby's not his son. Why do you call that...that _thing_ some sort of title? As though...he's some kind of ruler?" Disgust was evident on her face now and Snape sighed.

"I cannot pretend to easily explain to you the dynamics of the roles I play. Either way, I am no use to anyone if I am dead, detective."

He refrained from adding that she may disagree with that assessment. Detective Eames took a deep breath and let her hands come to land on her knees. "You...look at that thing all the time. How the hell do you not run away and vomit?"

Snape snorted, stoppering this latest batch of potion and setting it with the others. "Much practice," he said simply, turning back and lowering the heat on the last three batches.

"Thanks," she said then and he found himself looking at her. "For helping Bobby. You could have easily just decided not to do anything for him--you don't owe him anything and he wouldn't ask for the help. He's bad about that. But...my point is that you don't have to make these potions for him, you could just watch him suffer--and Harry...teaching him even though he reminds you of everything his dad did to you. Even though you are an unabashed prick..."

Snape snorted, then, despite himself and he heard Detective Eames chuckle a bit behind him.

"Yeah, you know how horrible you are...you don't kid yourself about some fantastic personality you're hiding somewhere. You're a jerk, but you aren't a sadist. You're trying to help Draco and Harry. I told you you had a soul, but you didn't want to believe me."

Snape rolled his eyes now and placed the potions in a bag reinforced with a cushioning charm and the same slow-drop charm that was used on Quaffles. "If you're done pointing out how much of a troll I am, I believe I have to deliver these to the Hospital Wing for your partner's benefit."

Detective Eames rose slowly to her feet, sadness creeping back into her features, and indicated the doorway with a seemingly careless gesture. "Lead the way, Sev," she murmured softly. Snape scowled but did as she asked.

* * *

Bobby blinked and opened his eyes, feeling them water against the bright sunlight cascading in through the Hospital Wing's open window. Next to his bed, his brother, sister-in-law, and mother all sat grouped. At the direct end, Harry and Alex leaned against the foot of his bed. Alex's hand slid forward to nudge his right foot. 

"Hey there," she said quietly, a small (and Bobby could hardly believe this) relieved smile on her face. "I was afraid you'd gone on strike for a bit there."

"Yeah," Nick agreed, his grin crooked. "We thought you'd said 'to Hell with waking life. My dreams are cooler'."

Bobby cleared his throat with difficulty before realizing that for the first time in two days, it didn't hurt to speak. "I haven't had any dreams. Madam Pomfrey gave me more potion." His voice was slightly hoarse but once more recognizable as his own. He took a deep breath, noting that his body no longer ached all over. "I feel…better."

Everyone around him smiled. Bobby sighed, looking down at his hands. A cool hand came forward and lifted his chin back up. His mother was looking at him now, her eyes clearer and her face softer than he'd seen it in years.

"Madam Pomfrey says that you should be well enough to return to your studies by the end of the week. You'll have to take doses of potion for the next few weeks, though. Is that understood, Robert?"

Bobby felt his breath hitch, though his mother had shown no outward change in her demeanor. "I..."

"Bobby," Nick said bracingly, gazing intently at his younger brother. "We know you're worried--we know why. But you're wrong. There's no way we'd ever stop being brothers. You don't belong to that monster and he won't get you, got it, kid?"

Bobby felt himself shiver and gasped involuntarily. He could feel wetness on his cheeks and looked away to his right, expecting to see an empty bed. Something had obviously happened to Draco, though, because he was asleep, himself, in the bed beside him.

"Madam Pomfrey said his dad burned his insides," Nick said quietly. "Harry says it's some kind of Dark Magic."

A flash went through Bobby's head of a masked Death Eater with long white blond hair raising his wand and then the horrible pain that had followed. Bobby felt himself shaking and burrowed more deeply under the sheet covering his legs. He gripped it and clenched his eyes shut before opening them again. "Lucius Malfoy," he said quietly. "He's the one who went to Carmel Ridge and attacked Mom."

At these words, Harry nodded, remembering his vision from that night and Nick's mouth fell open. "That was Draco's father?"

"He's one of Voldemort's biggest supporters," Harry said, a bitter expression flitting over his face. "And out of Azkaban, obviously, though the Ministry definitely hushed that up after what happened last year. Professor Dumbledore says none of us can leave the castle for now. He gave your captain something to take back to the States while we were there."

"A statement," Alex clarified and Bobby felt his breath leave him. He inhaled deeply and looked at her, a sudden determination coming over him even before he'd realized it.

"I want my books," he said shortly. "And my wand. My gun, too."

"I don't think Madam Pomfrey's going to let you have a gun in the Hospital Wing," Harry said, seemingly fighting a grin. "But we can get everything else."

"When I get out of here, can you show me where the Room of Requirement is?" Bobby asked, thinking of what Harry had told him about the lessons he'd taught the previous year.

"Sure!" Harry said then, shock and enthusiasm fighting for space in his expression. "I'll talk to Hermione, Ron, Neville, and Luna about whether they want to help!"

Bobby took another deep breath, trying to ignore the way his family were all smiling brightly at him. Looking at him as though he were something special, something important. Something clean.

Nick reached over and took an object from the nightstand, pressing it into Bobby's palm. Distracted, he looked down at it before looking back up, surprised to see his shield. "Alex brought it to you yesterday," his brother told him by way of explanation. Bobby's eyes met Alex's and he felt the urge to cry again. His throat felt blocked and he tried to swallow past the lump but failed.

"It's yours, partner," Alex said quietly. "It's part of who you are. How could I not?"

Bobby looked away, rubbing at his eyes with his bandaged right hand and stared at the blurry form of the badge in his hand. Gleaming red eyes flared behind his vision but he pushed the thought away. Instead, soft brown ones, brilliant green ones…blue and warm black…light grey eyes and the faces that held them overpowered the red, drowning it.

He leaned back against his pillow before flinching and shifting forward, his face contorting in pain.

Everyone's smiles were gone now and he remembered a feral beastly face...the feeling of being violated...

"He scratched me," Bobby said shakily, resisting the urge to look behind his shoulder. "Greyback...when he..."

Bobby swallowed thickly and looked at Harry. "Please go get Madam Pomfrey."

Harry frowned but promptly did as Bobby asked.

"Will they ever heal?" he asked her as she checked him over. He was behind the curtain now with everyone else still grouped around outside it.

"With salves, I can heal them enough so that they won't cause you discomfort. They've already healed enough to stop bleeding every time you move, but no they won't mend seamlessly. They're beastly in nature."

"Am I…am I a werewolf?"

Madam Pomfrey finished changing his dressing and handed him his shirt back. "No, detective, you're not. In order to become a fully-fledged werewolf, a bite must be inflicted by a _transformed _werewolf and a measure of fully lycanthropic saliva must enter the bloodstream."

"But…Greyback...he..." Bobby couldn't get it out, but Madam Pomfrey seemed to understand what he meant.

"When a victim is bitten, blood and saliva are exchanged at a higher amount. There's a certain amount of exposure involved. I imagine you may have some wolfish characteristics, but nothing so dramatic as full-on lycanthropy. An increased liking for very rare steaks has been reported, but no incidences of more violent tendencies have ever been recorded."

Bobby felt relief crash through him as though someone had poured cold water over his head on a very hot day. He finished buttoning his shirt and Madam Pomfrey began pulling the screen back. Then something occurred him and Bobby's head jerked back up. "Madam Pomfrey, what about--about silver? Could I be poisoned?"

At this Madam Pomfrey's mouth curved into a slight frown. "Well, from the research done at St. Mungo's on the subject, I'd imagine that silver would now bother you a bit. Rather like the allergy people can get to costume jewelry where their ears turn green. You would need the area that comes into contact with silver treated with either burn salve or potions, depending on the severity. I don't believe you would die of silver poisoning, though."

Bobby frowned, "Research? So this has happened to others--being exposed, but not bitten?"

"There have been werewolves for a very long time, Detective," Madam Pomfrey said calmly, peering intently at him. "They certainly aren't all as amiable as Mr. Potter's friend, Mr. Lupin. I'll remind you now that the sooner you recuperate, the sooner you may get back to your studies."

It was then that he made up his mind.

…TBC…


	18. You Don't Recover from a Night Like This

**Ominous  
**_By Angelfirenze_****

Disclaimer: Duh.  
**  
Summary:** Whatever happens, happens. :gives muse and canon writers richly deserved scowl:  
**  
Inspiration:** The anathema of the past two years of Goren's canon life. The list of unread/unfinished books in my possession that I'm making my way through. The music I have yet to buy.  
**  
Dedications: **To everyone who's still reading this after so long. Stupid writer's block.  
**  
Rating: M**, for the obvious reasons.  
**  
Notes: **Well I can't decide if I'm angry with Warren Leight or not so I'll just wing it. Remember that the CI Year Two episode, 'Mad Hops', for all intents and purposes, didn't happen. For Bobby's un-Glamoured appearance, Adrien Brody is the only incarnation I can imagine. Yes, I know he's more than a decade younger than VDO – wizarding biology seems to work in my favor that way. Ah, yes, and inspiration for the conversation between Bobby and Alex draws from one between Oz and Willow after his own lycanthropy was discovered.

Part XVII: You Don't Recover From a Night Like This…

Alex peeked into Bobby's bedroom to dimly register his slumped form asleep over a massive pile of books at his desk. His arms were folded under his chin and his hair was falling into his face. Walking as quietly as she could, Alex gently lifted his head and took one of the many pillows from his bed, trading a few of the books to place the pillow underneath the side of his face, careful not to irritate the scratches healing there more than she had to. Picking up the small stack, she placed them on the floor before returning to her room and changing into pajamas. Stopping in the kitchen to ladle some of the Calming Draught Harry always warmed up in the fireplace in the evenings, she returned to Bobby's side and gently woke him. Despite taking as much caution as she could manage, Bobby -- as always now -- woke abruptly, his thin face pale, his silver eyes wide and flashing with the anxiety that clung to him at all times.

Alex breathed deeply and silently indicated that he drink the potion and prepare for bed, stepping backward as Madam Pomfrey had suggested to his family at large once she'd conferred with a Healer at St. Mungo's who specialized in a magical sort of therapy and had treated many victims of Voldemort's first reign of terror after Harry's first defeat of him. By Bobby's previous standards, ten o'clock was ludicrously early and not even a month before he would have laughed at the idea. Now he knew better as even if he couldn't sleep without aid, Bobby always suffered even more when he hadn't the chance to still his perpetually aching body for several hours at a time. Often needing a few resting periods per day, Bobby's schedule had been altered and the lower level of study completely done away with. As was rare within the history of the school, Bobby had been offered an opportunity to sit special examinations containing several years worth of study on theory portions of the curriculum at a time due to extenuating circumstance. Hermione and Ginny had each been offered the opportunity after their ordeals with the Chamber of Secrets leaving them incapacitated for months at a time.

The only moments he seemed even mildly at peace was when he studied and Bobby now did that constantly, poring over seemingly hundreds of books and writing a neverending pile of notes on as many scraps of parchment and regular paper he could find. Within the two short weeks once he'd been released from the Hospital Wing, Bobby had gained command of more spells and more magical subjects than Alex could hope to keep track of. Some of it, she knew, was a response to the trauma of their abduction and his subsequent torture. Bobby had always felt safe near books and that certainty had most likely only increased since Greyback's attack on him.

On Snape's advice, Bobby had taken to intentionally practicing his in-born Occlumency and Legilimency skills, the idea being that conscious use of them gave him greater command over his faculties and helped keep his powers intact and as unaffected as possible by the compounding stresses of late. The idea that Snape was actively being helpful wasn't something Alex could entirely understand yet.

She didn't know what way to look at his decision to learn to control the glamour over his appearance, himself, but she was going to support him in his endeavors. It wasn't as though she could say she didn't truly know what she'd looked like all her life or that anyone had completely tampered with his existence to such an extent. If it helped him to feel some sort of control over his life again then it truly didn't matter who he did or didn't resemble. Bobby had found it rather odd how much younger he looked without the glamour. Aside from the grey in his hair -- which he knew could be put down to extreme stress as it happened in children as well as adults -- nearly translucent pallor and bloodshot eyes from lack of sleep, he didn't look at all his entire forty-three years. He'd ended up needing to find a spell to tailor his clothes to fit his new thinner, smaller frame. He didn't want to face anyone outside Hogwarts yet unless it was absolutely necessary and while Owl-Order took care of several worries, he couldn't do the same with clothing.

It bothered her a bit to hear Bobby explaining his logic by quoting his favorite comics -- this time Lewis Black again -- once more, basically comparing the choice between which father to resemble as 'two bowls of shit -- the only difference is the smell', but she could understand his motivations. The less Voldemort was able to hold over him in terms of secrets or abilities in terms of launching surprise attacks on his peace of mind, the better. She had to admit that it wasn't as jarring as she believed it might be to become used to this newer-seeming version of Bobby -- at least in looks. He was exactly the same in personality traits no matter what he looked like, though hearing a different voice issuing from his vocal chords in the middle of the night (she'd taken to sleeping in his bed so she could be near when nightmares awoke him) was still rather disconcerting she would never willingly tell him any of it, as though it were his fault to begin with. It wasn't, simple as that.

The first time Harry, Dudley, and Draco had each lain eyes on Bobby's 'true' appearance, she'd been able to see quite plainly that he'd been beside himself with fear -- particularly at rejection from either Harry or Draco -- but his fears, thankfully, had been for naught. Aaron had also been a challenge, but since he was so young there was a large chance his adjustment would be the easiest of all.

As it was, she knew they all worried that Bobby's decision would come back to haunt him whenever they returned to the States and resumed their jobs at One Police Plaza. Bobby tried to joke about the experience, positing an experiment involving him walking into the bullpen without the glamour and sitting down at his own desk to see if anyone objected and attempted to have him removed from the building. The fact that this was a real and valid fear wasn't a secret at all.

* * *

Dumbledore had been pressured by Frances and Anthony into hooking the Floo Network back up to Deakins' fireplace so Bobby could talk to him face to face. Alex had been the only one present for the conversation, Bobby's family taking it upon themselves to 'persuade' the Headmaster to give the three of them complete privacy. Bobby's expression had been carefully blank, his eyes shuttered for the remainder of the day, but from terse comments issued over breakfast (what little of it Bobby was willing to eat, intricately aware that he was the only one at the Gryffindor table whose meat was suddenly much rarer), it had turned into a sort of wait-and-see game whether they returned to New York or relocated to Washington, D.C. upon their return.

Bobby had been especially reluctant to bring up the idea of the change in plans with the three boys in his charge -- particularly upon learning from Professor McGonagall about the British Ministry's barbaric treatment of non- and part-humans under the jurisdiction of The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures' Being and Beast Divisions.

Harry had commented bitterly that Lupin had never been able, as a full-blooded werewolf, to hold down employment for any real length of time and it certainly didn't seem as though the Ministry bothered to care how they classified beasts or beings past their own convenience. Hermione had researched the Ministry's specific laws regarding the treatment of werewolves and Bobby miserably pointed out the foreword to Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander that while werewolves under the pull of the full moon were regularly reigned in by the Beast Division, support services for bitten victims was segregated into the Being Division -- a split view of 'This or That' seemed to be the rule when wizards tried to declare rule over species other than their own. The opinion of many was so easily swayed by the actions of few that Bobby was almost completely adverse to joining Wizarding society at all.

It seemed that his status as a Black on his mother's side had the potential to allow him some flexibility -- as did the fact that before his entrance into the Wizarding world, he'd already established steady employment and necessities such as food and shelter completely independent of wizarding bureaucracy and irrevocably within his ownership exempting the event of his death. This assurance of his livelihood not in danger of becoming the minefield that his physicality and emotions had been turned into was a small comfort. Unlike Lupin, he didn't have to worry where his next meal came from and, once he apologized to Mrs. Azrelo for disappearing for so long he knew she'd be willing to feed him should he require it. He'd been away from her diner much longer while in the Army and could chalk this up to a 'special assignment' without feeling like he'd lied to her, but he wasn't sure what he'd do when she saw his new appearance or when the next full moon came and he began feeling ill. He couldn't very well tell her he was part-werewolf now and would have to come up with something plausible of the Muggle human variety.

Madam Pomfrey had given him as detailed a list as she could regarding the symptoms he could be expected to endure next month, but if he started sprouting fur there wasn't much of a way to hide that. It was going to be difficult enough explaining what had happened in full to Fin, Mulder, and the rest before enduring the barrage of questions he knew would come. But he was prepared for that, at least, and if he needed medical care of some sort during the coming moon cycles, he could count upon Scully to keep the nature of his blood as secure as possible. Given her experiences with those infected by the Black Cancer and other supernatural illnesses, he was almost positive that she'd be willing to treat him so long as he was careful around William.

Bobby supposed that in other circumstances, her fears might offend and disturb him but when his uncertainty of his new state frightened him far more, he could hardly blame her let alone become angry.

* * *

He would admit, eventually, that the first few months after Greyback's attack had been the most difficult to get used to -- sounds, scents, and sensations he'd never known existed made it nearly impossible to endure loud noises at times and the itch that fluttered through his skin during a full moon would wake him almost as abruptly as his nightmares always had, Bobby finding himself jerking upright, his hands scraping at his skin trying to relieve the sensations coursing through him -- trying desperately to stop crying so as not to rouse Alex, who would never yell at him, never complain when he couldn't keep still or as quiet as he'd've liked. She never insisted on splitting up with him even after watching him attempt to ignore the fact that his veal parmesan was suddenly far too cooked the first evening back for dinner in the Great Hall.

The house elves had returned it raw, tinged with a visible veneer of blood and Alex and Harry immediately ordered everyone to leave the room with only Alex, herself, staying behind with Bobby. He'd watched blurrily as tears fell into his food and his body started to shake while he tried to ignore the pheromones making his stomach growl audibly. He was afraid to open his mouth for fear of salivating right onto his shirt. Scraping the back of his hand over his face, Bobby turned away from his plate -- breathing harshly and gripping the bench beneath him with audible force -- refusing to look up when Alex seated herself beside him.

"You need to eat, partner," her voice said softly, her face dipping downward to catch his eyes.

"I'm a monster," Bobby ground out, noting miserably that his voice had taken on a feral pitch and vaguely wondered if his eyes (he already had to get used to them being grey -- yellow would be something different altogether) had changed color at all. "I'm inhuman."

Alex closed her eyes for a moment, summoning the will not to cry at the sound of turmoil in his voice nor at what he was implicitly stating. Refraining from touching him despite a nearly overwhelming urge to do so, Alex leaned back against the table, training her teary eyes upon the enchanted ceiling. "You are not a monster. You may not be human, exactly, anymore but you're still the same man I fell in love with and you always will be. I'm not pleasant to be around several days a month, either, and while _yes_, I know it doesn't compare -- my point…" Alex leaned forward again and turned to face him as much as possible while staying next to him. "Is that if you don't go running out on me when I have insane cravings for protein, chocolate, kicking males in their testicles, or am sweating like a pig, then I'll certainly return the favor -- with interest." Leaning back into Bobby's side, Alex reached up and trailed a hand through Bobby's hair, trying to breathe steadily as she listened to his stilted sobs.

"I love you, too," she heard him whisper, his voice hoarse as it so often was now. "But I'd die if I hurt you or the kids and I'm still not sure how long any of you should love me."

…_Don't you play with me 'cause you're playin' with fire…_

A/N: Okay, this heavy-handed damned chapter will serve as something of a transition to put the ideas that broke my writer's block into place. I'm not planning on jumping forward in time, though, unless the plot dictates it. Thanks to everyone who's been patient with me and I'll try my hardest not to let the writer's block get so bad again.


	19. Been Changin’, Think It’s Funny

**Ominous**  
_By Angelfirenze_

**Disclaimer:** Duh. Schrödinger and Dalén are Nobel Prize-winning physicists. I thought it fitting. I suppose you'll see why. *shrugs happily*

**Summary:** Whatever happens, happens. ::gives muse and canon writers richly deserved scowl::

**Inspiration:** My recent fascinations with both Thomas Riddle, Jr., and the Dursleys – largely abetted by absolutely brilliant fanfiction. I've been fascinated, on the passive side, with combining Houses and/or improving relations between them for quite a while. This bears the fruit of that curiosity, finally. The sadly now-defunct Hogwarts hybrid Sorting Livejournal community, **diffindo_elite**, and whichever anonymous user, et al, who came up with the idea of combining Houses due to combinations of traits that are ordinarily ignored in favor of that which seems strongest. I have the mods' permission to play around with the incarnation they used, though. ::glee::

**Dedications: **To everyone who's still reading this after so long. Stupid writer's block.

**Rating: M**, for the obvious reasons, plus implied (and not-so-much) masturbation and other such things. **_Seriously, here. Don't like it, don't read._** That trusty back button's _right there_ if you need it!

**Notes:** For the setup of showers and sinks between the Slythendor dorm rooms, if any of you have read Catcher in the Rye for more than the first few chapters, you'll possibly remember that there was a shower located between Holden and Stradlater's dorm and the dorm Ackley shared with Ely. Yes, I have those details committed to memory. I didn't do it on purpose and don't particularly care very much. *grin*

Ah, yes, and keep in mind that this is strictly Harry/Hermione/Ron and Draco/Ginny. Harry and Ginny have, in my eyes, the same sibling relationship as Ginny does with Ron. I don't ship incest of any kind and they're all taken, besides.

Part XVII: I've Been Changin', Think It's Funny How No One Knows...

Albus Dumbledore sat in his darkened office, his chair facing the window overlooking the grounds of Hogwarts. He was at the moment contemplating a mixture of things but allowing nothing to gain a lead. Privately within himself, he admitted to being confused and indecisive about several matters that required his immediate attention -- not least being the individual fates of both Detective Robert Goren and Draco Malfoy and their connections to two of the most dangerous Dark wizards alive at the moment. To say they were endangered was putting it lightly and he wasn't sure protection was even remotely possible. It was rather odd not to include Harry in that statement but given the circumstances he was actually the one in the _least_ amount of peril for the time being.

Dumbledore wondered if the change in pace was welcome or not.

He'd first had the idea during the early morning hours of the previous morning and subsequent events had only served to further strengthen his curiosity and worry. He was due to meet with the four Heads of House within the hour and was attempting to resist speculating their reactions. He could only say for certain that he was turning a thousand years of tradition, rivalry, and prejudice on its head. It was plain to him, though, that such resistance to change went along with bias bore out by splitting student bodies into four concrete distinctions.

Dumbledore groaned inwardly at the barrage of owls he was sure to get once the letters detailing the changes made it to the homes of every student coming in the new term. He was certain the school governors would be calling for his resignation if this did not end well, but he could no longer ignore the blatantly bigoted attitudes that were cultivated throughout his school unchecked and one of the few ways he saw to help rectify it was to re-Sort all returning students and use the same template for Sorting new students from now on. He could only hope that resistance wasn't too furious and that time would bear him out to be in the right.

***

"The headmaster wants to start re-Sorting all the students -- stop that, Ron," Hermione nettled, swatting his face away from her neck. Ron sighed and leaned back against Harry's chest. He hated when the other two were far more interested in talking than other, far better things -- snogging, for example. Petting was even better, but something always seemed to get in the way. Sighing in a put-upon fashion, Ron reached behind himself and took hold of Harry's t-shirt.

"Honestly, Ron," Harry complained, although he was still smiling. "Snogging and everything else can wait a tick. We're being given a chance to get used to the idea, at least."

Ron sighed and reached over to run a hand through Hermione's hair before pulling her in for one last kiss.

"Alright, fine, but I hope talking's not all we're going to do."

"There's more to life than all that, Ron," Hermione stated primly, glaring at Harry for taking the opportunity to begin nibbling on Ron's ear (causing Ron to groan and attempt to rub at the bulge in his jeans, only to have Harry stop him to his intense indignation) and completely countering her point. "Harry, you are _not_ helping!"

Harry sighed and grinned, holding up both hands in surrender (but pointedly not letting go of either of Ron's) before leaning up against Ron's shoulder in turn. "You know, it's not my fault Ron decided my lap was a good place to sit."

Hermione rolled her eyes but favored them both with a smile. "We need to get things straightened out -- after all, when your uncle finishes his training -- which'll be pretty soon at the rate he's progressing -- you're going to the States and we won't see you again until September. Owl post can only do so much."

Harry nodded, taking both Ron's and Hermione's hands. "Well, I suppose asking McGonagall if the Floo Network can be used across oceans is worth a try. Maybe my uncles will have their fireplaces hooked up and we can Fire Call one another even when we visit Uncle Nick. It'd be useful, at any rate, during an emergency -- though Uncle Bobby, Uncle Nick, and Alex all have telephones and mobile phones, as well."

"Either way is a good option -- especially as Ron has made it his duty to stay woefully unaccustomed to using anything Muggle-made."

Ron made a face at the dig but since half the time when Hermione and Harry talked about things they did on their own in the Muggle world, he had no idea what they were going on about and had to interrupt half the time to ask for clarification. He was annoyed sometimes by how quickly they seemed to pick up Wizarding customs and wondered why he didn't have an easier time with the other way around. He wasn't stupid, he knew, but Hermione and Harry were both a lot more fussed about books and things than he was -- Ron supposed it'd only get crazier since Harry's uncle was even more book-mad than Hermione was, which he didn't think was possible until now.

"Ron!" Hermione called his name impatiently and Ron snapped back to focus, blushing as he realized he'd missed part of the conversation.

"Sorry," he muttered, contrite. "I was just thinking about differences between Muggle and Wizarding stuff."

Harry smiled at Ron and got up to dig the book Uncle Bobby let him borrow out of his bag, coming back to settle between Hermione and Ron, careful to keep up contact with both of them as he read more.

"So..." Ron murmured some time later. "What...new House do you think I'll be Sorted into?"

Hermione's mouth curled into the thoughtful pose so familiar to both of them and she peered at Ron, giving him a once over as she thought about it. "Well, I have to practically force the two of you to study, though Harry's much less of a complainer about it than you are, so I think anything Ravenclaw is out. From what you and Harry told me about what you saw in the Mirror of Erised first year, I'd actually think there's a bit of Slytherin in you -- Ron, hear me out before you simply storm off!"

For at the moment, Ron had let out a yell of dismay, shooting Hermione a glare. Harry looked up, too, but his expression was more pensive than upset.

"Just what do you mean I'm part Slytherin?" Ron asked hotly, prompting Hermione to open her mouth in preparation to argue back, but Harry surprised them both by closing his book, disentangling himself from their embraces and getting to his feet.

"Where're you going off to?" Ron asked, his annoyance momentarily forgotten by Harry's sudden departure.

Harry frowned deeply at the two of them, folding his arms over his bag strap. "Remember when we first decided to have a go at this? Remember what I asked of the pair of you?"

Hermione immediately felt her insides sink and a glance at Ron told her she wasn't alone in her embarrassment.

"Well?" Harry asked impatiently, glaring at them now.

"You said that Ron and I had to make an effort not to bicker and pick at every little thing, arguing seemingly for the sake of it."

Harry nodded once, sending them both a cool look before relaxing slightly. "Ron, you didn't even let Hermione finish her explanation before starting in on her. It's not like she doesn't know the two of us – and anyway, she knows more about the Founders' original intentions than either of us. They may have each prized one trait above all else, but those traits don't always show themselves the same way. Besides, my uncle told me that the animals they chose as House mascots had significance, too. Lions may be considered brave by human standards, but they can be underhanded to get what they want. I read that male lions will kill the cubs of dispossessed males in the pride in order to favor their own bloodline. They're possessive like that."

Ron stared at Harry, his mouth hanging open in shock. Harry calmly walked back over and tipped it back shut, giving him a small grin.

"And then there's the fact that I'm a Parselmouth but I'm currently in…" Harry started again, but he froze and his eyes widened before he spun back around and started running for the door to the Room of Requirement, where they'd been spending more time than ever over the last few weeks.

"Harry, what -- " Hermione called before her hand closed around his arm and stopped him. "What's going on?"

"Uncle Bobby," Harry burst out, pulling himself out of her grip and breaking into a run. It was nearly curfew anyway and if he wanted to prove his theory he had to be quick about getting back to the flat. "I have to see something for him!"

Harry didn't stop running until he'd reached the tapestry that led to the rooms he shared with his family. He spat out the password and watched the tunnel form, barely letting the air stop rippling before he dashed into the living room and strode over to Bobby's bedroom door. He ground to a halt after realizing it was entirely possible that his uncle had gone to bed early or was napping, in which case he'd wait if necessary, but he had to test his theory somehow and Uncle Bobby's permission made it all the easier.

Composing himself, he knocked gently, knowing that his uncle's now-preternatural hearing made loud noises unbearable. "Uncle Bobby?" he murmured, stepping back the prescribed three feet Madam Pomfrey had advised for the detective's comfort. "Are you awake?"

"Just a second, Harry," Bobby's slightly hoarse voice answered before the door swung open. Harry gave in to the urge to check his uncle over for any fresh injuries or aggravation of older ones but tried to do so discreetly.

He believed, however, that Uncle Bobby probably still knew he did it. He had revealed himself, in the short time that Harry had known him, to be an almost frighteningly perceptive and observant man even when he wasn't delving into anyone else's thoughts. His encyclopedic knowledge of body language minutiae still caught Harry off-guard regularly and Harry figured Alex was really the only one completely used to it as she was with him more often than not, especially now. There wasn't very much Harry could hide from him, even if he'd known how to do so. They Occluded themselves, though, out of respect for one another's privacy.

It had been fairly embarrassing for Harry when his uncle had grudgingly informed him the previous evening that he could smell Hermione and Ron both mixed in with his own scent, but that his blood seemed to indicate that he hadn't lost his virginity yet. Uncle Bobby had been reluctant to explain just how he knew that, but Uncle Nick's authoritative glare at Harry had prompted him to assure them both that he was still a virgin and none of them had gone quite that far yet and weren't immediately planning on it, either.

He'd been fielding suspicious glances from Uncle Nick, Aunt Sara, and Alex ever since then, but was infinitely grateful that Uncle Bobby seemed to be cutting him some slack.

"Is something wrong?" Bobby asked now, leaning carefully against the doorjamb and barely stifling a yawn, and Harry tried to keep from frowning at how exhausted Bobby always was now. Lupin, he supposed, he'd sort of taken for granted, never having actually being faced with the ravages the older werewolf's body went through every full moon. The effects didn't seem to be as severe with Bobby, but the toll was still plainly obvious.

"Um, I just...thought of something and...and I wanted to know if it was alright to ask. I don't want to disturb you."

Bobby favored him with a raised eyebrow and Harry decided it'd probably be easier if he allowed Bobby to perceive his query within his mind rather than simply blurting it out. "Parseltongue is a biological trait Slytherin passed down to..." Bobby paused and took a steeling breath before continuing. "_Him_...and you wanted to see if I inherited it, as well, like you did when he attacked you as a child."

Harry felt his face flush, cursing himself for springing this on his uncle with no warning just because he'd been so stupidly curious.

"You don't have -- forget it," Harry spluttered, immediately turning to go, his face flushing with embarrassment. Bobby's hand alighted suddenly upon his shoulder and he halted, letting the breath he'd been holding out.

"It's a really good question," Bobby said quietly and Harry winced, fuming at his own idiocy. "I-I'd thought about that, myself. The spell for conjuring a live snake..."

Uncle Bobby trailed off and Harry tipped his head back, still highly uneasy, and breathed out, "_Serpensortia_. Draco used it when we were supposed to be dueling second year."

Harry's head fell forward again and he scowled, "That was when everyone found out I was a Parselmouth and decided I was the Heir of Slytherin and trying to kill everyone."

"You have to understand how you sounded, Harry," Hermione interjected bracingly, reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder and seemingly relieved when he didn't shrug away. "All any of us heard was you hissing at the snake. It doesn't sound like words at all."

"Yeah, I know," Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair and turning back to his uncle, who was watching him with a frown on his now-thinner, sallow face. "So...you want to know if you're a Parselmouth, too?"

Bobby tilted his head to the side and sighed, "Better now than never -- or getting into something questionable later. I could hardly tell the Chief of Detectives that I was interviewing pet snakes at a crime scene or something."

Harry chuckled a bit at that and nodded, "I had a perfectly decent conversation with an albino python at the zoo in Surrey when I was ten. Dudley's old mate, Piers, just _had _to tell Uncle Vernon I'd been talking to it before the glass in the front of the case disappeared." Harry scowled then. "And after Hermione and Ron dragged me back to Gryffindor Tower after the duel, Justin and Ernie were convinced I'd been trying to kill Justin all because he'd told me about how he'd been down for Eton until he'd gotten his Hogwarts letter."

"You said your friend is a Muggleborn like Hermione," Bobby said quietly and Harry nodded. "So with you being the so-called _Heir of Slytherin_..."

Bobby trailed off again before removing his own wand from his pocket and giving it a wave. _Serpensortia_, he thought clearly and a jet of coal-colored mist solidified into a small snake that landed on the living room floor with a soft _thwap_, leading Hermione and Ron to each jump back with noises of fright.

Harry spoke first, commanding the snake to be still, which caused it to turn back to face where he was standing with Uncle Bobby, who was eyeing it with intrigue. The snake watched Harry, its tongue flickering out steadily, catching their scents. Bobby gazed down at it, the determined frown he'd worn so often lately back in his face. He took a breath and concentrated on calming himself before opening his own mouth and speaking.

A steady hiss exited his mouth and he told the snake, _Look at me_. The snake's head turned in his direction and Bobby felt a chill fall over him. So he was a natural-born Parselmouth, as well, it seemed. He breathed out and slowly bent into a crouch, reaching out an arm so that the snake slithered forward to wrap itself around it. He stood straight again and walked over to the couch, where he sat and felt himself immediately sink into the cushions. He was so exhausted all the time and absolutely hated it. He was almost too drained to consider that he'd just allowed what would ordinarily be considered a dangerous creature to take up residence on his skin.

Still, from the look of things, it was harmless. Bobby sighed and didn't notice when he'd fallen asleep.

***

Alex bent down to try waking Bobby to get him to bed but reared back and only managed to cover her mouth as the head of a snake inched out from inside his right sleeve. Her subsequent squeak, however, couldn't be stifled, much less unheard and Bobby's eyes popped open.

Alex sighed and tried to calm herself down. She braved a watery grin, "New friend?"

Bobby exhaled deeply and lifted his arm, trailing a finger over the snake's head. "I conjured him. Harry had an idea just now and we decided to test his theory."

Alex noted the way he didn't continue, instead focusing on his face and the way the snake was completely docile toward Bobby's handling of it. The snake slithered forward to wrap its small body around Bobby's wrist and he smiled a little, himself.

"He's a hatchling, still," Bobby whispered, stroking the back of the snake's head. "He hisses like Aaron spoke when he was a smaller boy."

Alex found herself smiling despite her bundled nerves. "So you can speak to snakes like Harry can?"

Bobby leaned back into the couch again. "Yeah, it seems that way. I'm a Parselmouth because my -- the Gaunts were Parselmouths. I'm guessing it's a dominant trait." Bobby shrugged. "It wouldn't...be terrible to keep him. I mean..."

He glanced at Alex and was surprised to find her smiling gently at him. "It's just an ability you have, like the Occlumency and the Legilimency. You make choices about them just like you made a choice to become a cop. It's just a part of who you are."

Bobby braved a slight chuckle. "Are you going to start quoting _Dogma_ at me by any chance?"

Alex grinned, rolled her eyes and held out a hand to help Bobby get to his feet without disturbing his wounds or the as yet unnamed snake. "It's not like Metatron didn't have a point, you know…"

Bobby smiled, really smiled for the first time in so long and Alex almost gave in to the temptation to check that both her feet were still on the ground.

"He's going to need a terrarium and a name…" Bobby muttered to himself, pulling his wand out of his pocket as they went into his bedroom. "I know -- Schrödinger!"

"He's not a cat, Bobby."

"I know that."

Alex sighed and hid another smile.

***

Bellatrix Lestrange sat hunched over, breathing harshly as the lingering effects of her Lord's latest Cruciatus Curse slowly abated. Beside her, Lucius was staring vacantly outward, dripping blood at the corner of his mouth where the slashing hexes that marred his face juxtaposed gruesomely. Before them both, Bartemius Crouch, Jr.'s, soulless body was slumped against the earthen walls of the section of catacomb they occupied. Lucius may have been able to tell her exactly where they were within the lower confines of his home if he were at all useful at the moment. Bellatrix seethed in memory of Lucius' wavering, petrified voice as he'd tried to excuse his failures to get back anywhere near Hogwarts.

Three sacred targets of the Dark Lord's sat lavishly as princes within the protective bosom of Dumbledore, the muggle-loving fool, and Snape...Bellatrix wanted to spit on the floor every time she thought of the greasy, dirty-blooded turncoat, and would have gladly done so if her mouth hadn't been so terribly dry. The Dark Lord had ordered Mulciber to confiscate both hers and Lucius' wands for their shared and isolated failures so she was without food or drink lest the Dark Lord allow her any and she knew as well as anyone that the Dark Lord did not forgive failure of any magnitude, much less of this kind.

They had been demoted to 'caring' for the husk of a man in their company, staring minute after minute at his desiccated face, the empty dullness in his eyes, slack of his body. Bellatrix had been reduced to wiping away gruel that slopped down as she tried to force him to swallow the meager food provided. She was at least thankful that Lucius had been regulated the task of seeing to the mindless imbecile's excrement. _She_ hadn't failed so badly as to permit and participate in the torture of the Dark Lord's only heir, say nothing of his failed extraction.

Bellatrix turned her head to hide a thin smile. She was going to find a way to get Stephen (and Snape, besides) back into her Lord's custody and then she would be redeemed.

***

Post owls landed in front of everyone's plates and bowls the next morning at breakfast. Bobby was careful to pull the rare dragon meat steak Hagrid had furnished for him back safely as his own owl, Dalén, landed before him and waited patiently for Bobby to untie the packages from Diagon Alley containing ingredients and supplies he'd run out of. He was counting the number of new rolls of parchment he'd just received when Ron's voice echoed incredulously down the Gryffindor Table.

"They're going to make bloody _examples_ of us?" he yelled loudly, causing the nearby birds to ruffle their feathers angrily. Pigwidgeon, other the other hand, twittered on happily, thoroughly used to his master's theatrics.

"Ron," Hermione was saying in a consoling tone of voice when Bobby looked over at her. "We're already here and it wouldn't make any sense not to at least test out the idea in a real-life situation rather than springing something that won't work on the school at large come the start of term."

Ron looked ready to retort, but glanced at Harry and backed down. Digging his spoon back into his overly-sweetened oatmeal, he resigned himself to shrugging. "I still don't see why it has to be done today."

"Well," Bobby began, drawing Ron's attention, but Professor Dumbledore's voice rang through the hall from where the Sorting Hat and stool had been placed as happened every year.

"Would all attendant school-age students, regardless of year, please come to the front of the Great Hall, please? Professor McGonagall will call your names. As there are so few of you and each of you is well acquainted at this point, I will simply ask that you align yourselves in alphabetical order, similar to when most of you were originally Sorted. No, Detective Goren, this does not include you."

Bobby had been on the point of going to join the younger students, but sat back down now, intrigued as to what Dumbledore had in mind.

There was shuffling of feet and some awkward bumping as the Gryffindors, Slytherin, and Ravenclaws, as well as the as-yet-un-Sorted Holden all arranged themselves in a semi-organized fashion.

"I realize that you are all quite comfortable with the arrangement the students have enjoyed these past thousand and some-odd years, but it has come painfully to my attention that bias, rivalry, and outright cruelty in many cases has run completely unchecked and it is my aim to counteract that as much as possible, not the least being while you and your brethren remain students within my school. The Sorting Hat itself has warned time and time again of segregating yourselves into such isolative groups, disregarding the virtues of others and the shortcomings in yourselves."

Dumbledore sighed, an oddly weary admission when he usually exuded anything but. "It is now apparent that unless active steps are taken, counteraction will not happen. That said, the four original Houses are being abolished and their illustrious histories being added to the curriculum for the History of Magic course, which will also be overhauled from now on to include a teacher capable of performing the duties expected of an instructor, at which Professor Binns, unfortunately, has proven consistently inept. If it comes to it, Professor Binns may be exorcised, but I am hoping he will give up his post willingly."

Professor Dumbledore, still seemingly oddly unsure of himself, continued then. "The four original Common Rooms as well as the dormitories will remain in their current locations but will be enlarged and given new names and two subsequent additions of Common Room space will be created from previously disused sections of the castle."

Dumbledore paused to take in the expressions ranging from shock and curiosity, to outright appall. He smiled benignly. "That said, in keeping with the new cobblestones of traditions being laid, there will be additions of two more Prefects and additional changes in the curriculum will stand as follows: all incoming pureblood students will be required to take Muggle Studies – taught by a Muggleborn or similar, being that they are in regular contact and maintain adequate knowledge of the Muggle world -- from first year onward and the reverse, being Wizard Studies will be compulsory for all incoming Muggleborn students, as taught by either a half-blood or pureblood wizard of non-elitist leanings."

Dumbledore took another breath, steeling himself for the most inflammatory portion given the assumption of free speech and whatever fluidity such allowed. "Further to that point, anyone discovered using derogatory language geared toward either subset will face dire consequences. Anyone choosing to pursue Dark Arts or Muggle forms of terrorism within this school, or utilizing means to do so from other sources, will be expelled without question. There is no tolerance for hate crimes of any sort."

A tense silence lingered throughout the hall before Professor Dumbledore gave a soft clap of his hands. "All said now: nitwit, blubber, oddment, tweak!"

Harry, Ron, and Hermione all laughed in relief, remembering those words well from their first night at Hogwarts, but quieted down as Dudley was called up first to the Sorting Hat. Harry distinctly heard him grumbling that he'd only _just_ been Sorted, couldn't he enjoy _that_ for a while? Dudley sat down with an exaggerated sigh and felt the Sorting Hat fall around his ears again. It was another moment before the Hat rang out, _"Ravendor!"_ and Harry felt his mouth drop open, glancing at Hermione, who looked oddly thoughtful.

"What did Professor McGonagall tell you the names of the new Houses were, again?" he whispered, careful to keep half his attention on the proceedings.

"Gryffinpuff, Ravendor, Ravenpuff, Slytherclaw, Slytherdor, and Slytherpuff!" Hermione hissed at top speed, trying to make herself heard by Harry without interrupting and drawing attention. "And Ron and I aren't Prefects anymore."

"You'll be -- "

"Shhhh!" Hermione clapped a hand over Harry's mouth and he had to quickly duck away, reciting the lineup of the Irish National Quidditch Team in his head to distract from the way her hands on his skin always made him feel.

At that moment, Professor McGonagall called Hermione's name and she squeaked loudly, to scattered chuckles amongst her fellows. Harry gave her a quick pat on the shoulder and nudged her forward. Shivering visibly with nerves, Hermione sat herself on the stool and her hands immediately came together to wring furiously. Holden sighed and shook his head, wondering why on earth his older sister insisted on worrying _everything_ to death.

After a few minutes' deliberation, the Hat declared, _"Ravendor!"_ as it had for Dudley. Hermione got up shakily and went to sit down next to him at one of two new tables they hadn't noticed had been added before that morning.

Next, Holden -- his hands tucked into his pockets as he made his way to the stool and sat, adopting a pose akin to Rodin's _Thinker_ (which made several people of unknown origin laugh) as the Hat seemed to dither back and forth about which House would be best for him. Finally, after what seemed forever, the Sorting Hat called out, '_Slytherclaw!'_ and Holden rose again, sauntering over to the temporarily labeled table that proclaimed his new House. Harry and Neville both chuckled, imagining Hermione's annoyed eye-roll at her brother's nonchalant behavior.

Neville's turn wasn't amusing as his first Sorting had been, nor as eventful as Draco's second would be. He gave the Hat a funny little smile before sitting down on the stool and letting it drop over his eyes again. Harry chuckled as Neville began making a show of twiddling his thumbs, much to Ginny's amusement to his left. After another full five minutes, Neville got up smirking as the Hat called out, _"Gryffinpuff!" _and he made a point to remove it from his head to place it back on the stool himself. More than a few of the instructors clapped along with the students.

Luna's turn was just as uneventful, which didn't surprise Harry. She smiled pleasantly throughout her tenure on the stool, rising gracefully to her feet when the Sorting Hat called out, _"Ravendor!" _and going to join Hermione and Dudley at their table. Hermione gave her a short hug, an awkward sort of delight on her face, before they returned to watching the proceedings.

"Draco Malfoy!" Professor McGonagall called out and Harry distinctly noticed Professor Snape (already on alert at Hermione's brother's Sorting result), sit up ramrod straight.

Draco's assent toward the Sorting Hat this time around didn't remotely resemble the swagger he'd flaunted when they'd been eleven years old. Harry thought he could see a definite hesitance as Draco put on the Sorting Hat, which hadn't even taken a moment to Sort him previously. This time, it took well over five minutes, during which a multitude of discomforted expressions flit across Draco's mouth where the Sorting Hat's brim didn't cover his face.

Finally, the Hat proclaimed, _"Ravenpuff!" _and Draco got to extremely shaky legs to sit at his new table by himself. Harry watched Draco's head drop onto his folded arms and he began to shake. Harry felt a strange sense of pity come over him, but was swept out of it when McGonagall called his name next.

Sighing deeply, Harry glanced down to make sure his shoes were tied before walking resolutely up to the stool and allowing Professor McGonagall to put the Sorting Hat back on his head.

**_Mr. Potter,_** the Sorting Hat told him immediately in a slightly teasing sort of voice. **_Why don't we do this the hard way and you simply tell me why you don't want me to put you in any Slytherin House?_**

Harry bristled momentarily, now distinctly understanding why Draco was so shaken. _I really wouldn't know -- er – Sorting Hat. At this point, I'm not particularly sure of anything._

**_Well, what do you want for yourself?_**

_I want to get rid of Voldemort so he'll –_

**_Ah, ah, ah_****,** The Sorting Hat reprimanded lightly. **_I didn't ask you what you were _expected_ to do. I asked you what you _wanted for yourself_. I'm not particularly interested in what _others_ want _for _you. That is hardly your purpose in life and it's high time you figured that out._**

Harry sighed brusquely, flinging his hands slightly upward in resignation. _I want…_ he began to think but images of his family in the Mirror of Erised, Uncles Bobby and Nick, Aunt Sara, and _Savta_ Frances (the Hebrew for 'grandmother' as she'd invited Harry to call her despite her own Catholicism) all more prominent and easily identifiable now that he had names to attach to their faces. He thought of Hermione and Ron and the rest of the Weasleys and how he loved them, too, and they loved him in turn. Even before the three of them had begun whatever this was, Hermione and Ron had been his happy thought that had driven Umbridge's Dementors away.

And Neville was almost like a brother to him, Luna a sister. He and Dudley were becoming closer than they'd ever been in life with their other family and it gave him a feeling of cohesiveness that he couldn't quite explain. Even when he'd been the leader of the D.A., he'd been a part of something, no longer left on his own for lack of choice. He had a choice above all else, about anything and everything and the thought made him feel warm inside.

_I want to be myself without consequences. I don't want to feel like the magical -- or any world's problems are my responsibility. I want to be able to remember that I don't have to be alone if I don't want to be. That it's okay when I _choose it. _I'm not a tool and I'm not a burden. I'm just me. Just Harry._

The words didn't feel the same as they had when he was eleven, when shock and skepticism -- unwillingness to believe he could ever be worth anything in and of himself -- had prompted them. They felt like a proclamation of independence, like the Colonies striking out on their own and trying to figure things out. Harry had read about it in one of Uncle Bobby's history books and it seemed the same. Every country had done the same thing at some point -- even England, from Rome when it covered the known world. It was time for him to try to do the same.

Somehow, he felt the Sorting Hat smile in his consciousness and breathed out in relief as he heard _"Slytherdor!"_ called out to the Hall at large. He was aware of Snape's eyes now upon him as he stepped solidly away from the stool but wouldn't glance back. He was escaping something but he didn't know what. It wouldn't do to render himself a pillar of salt because doubt grabbed hold of him at the last second. He could believe in himself. He knew that now.

He sat down at the lone empty table, oddly at ease. He propped his cheek on his hand and watched as Ginny took her turn. He was intrigued, but not terribly surprised when Ginny took a seat next to him after being Sorted into _Slytherdor_. He even found himself laughing at Ron's astonished face when the Sorting Hat put him in their House and made a point of sharing looks of triumph with Hermione from her own table, but tempered them in deference to Ginny's superior ability to mock her brother only as much as he deserved. She promptly adopted an innocent face the second he pulled his wand on her, miming zipping her lips shut.

With that, the Summer Sorting drew to a close and the stool and Hat were removed from the Hall, presumably back to the headmaster's office to finish composing its song for the coming fall term.

"Now," Dumbledore smiled broadly, his arms sweeping out to encompass them all. "With new Houses come new experiences, new opportunities: slates are wiped clean -- _tabula rasa_, is the phrase. All attendant new prefects will receive notification by noontime. At the moment, however, it is prudent to identify the Heads of Houses in their new capacities, as well as outlining the remaining aims for what has become an extended summer term. Professor McGonagall, if you please..."

McGonagall rose regally back to her feet and spoke loudly and clearly in the now-silent hall.

"Each new House will be under the advice and jurisdiction of the following members of staff: I, myself, will maintain Gryffinpuff and Gryffinclaw, Professor Flitwick will maintain Ravendor and Ravenpuff, Professor Snape will advise Slytherclaw and Slytherdor and Professor Sprout will see to maintaining goodwill involving muggleborns and purebloods of any House."

With that McGonagall returned to her breakfast and Dumbledore sat down, beginning picking once more at his still uneaten breakfast, his mind awhirl with the torrent of owls he knew he would receive. It was only a matter of time, he knew -- the same as he knew Tom had to be planning something, anything regarding Robert. His inability to even hazard a guess bothered him more than he could say.

***

Harry followed the instructions Snape had written in his familiar cramped calligraphy to his new dorm room, surprised to find that this room was for but one occupant. His belongings sat already at the end of the unadorned bed against the wall adjacent from the door, a desk positioned directly at its end in lieu of a chair, which instead was across the room in a corner with his new House robes, gloves, and scarf. The scarf was no longer scarlet with thin golden stripes, but an interesting alternation of scarlet and an emerald the same shade as his own dress robes, which Uncle Bobby had gotten a new set of for him after receiving his own. The emblem on the insignia was no longer a rearing lion, but both a lion and a snake elaborately worked and integrated as though bowing to one another in respect. _Fitting_, he supposed.

It occurred to him to wonder what Hermione's new scarf looked like, which inevitably led to him imagining her in said scarf with little else. Harry closed his eyes and half-heartedly fought back another groan, suddenly quite glad he had a room to himself. He tried to distract himself further by concentrating on putting his belongings away in various cubbyhole-like alcoves and shelves carved into the stone walls around him and in the underside of his bed frame, but thoughts of Hermione, now coupled with an equally naked Ron, kept intruding.

Swearing softly, he did a rush job to finish the rest before yanking off his clothes and ducking into the bathroom between his and what appeared to be Ron's new dorm room, noting with some satisfaction that there seemed to be a warming charm on the stone floors throughout. Trying not to concentrate too much on the erection bobbing against his stomach, Harry resigned himself to a cold shower (or tried to, only just managing not to shriek and immediately switching to a decently hot temperature, finally telling himself to hell with it and letting his mind simply wander) and a very long year.

***

It wasn't until he returned to his room nearly an hour later to find two battered copies of Advanced Potion-Making by Libatius Borage sitting on his new desk. Pausing to trade his bathrobe for a clean pair of boxers, Harry settled onto his bed and picked up the topmost book.

In the dust jacket, he found the words: **_This book is property of the Half-Blood Prince_** written in very familiar green handwriting.

Some of the pages looked as though they'd been singed and repaired, the tiny newer portions being _slightly_ less yellowed. Smiling a little, Harry flipped curiously through the book and found very few pages without notes scrawled in the margins.

Setting the book back on this desk, he picked up the second and opened it to read the words: **_This_****_ book is property of the Pureblood Clod's Nightmare_**_._

This book was even more graphitized, and rather more difficult to decipher as the ink was the same (albeit faded) rainbow color that Hagrid had allowed him to buy his first year. The 'Half-Blood Prince' had remarked that she must have done so on purpose because no one in their right mind would try to slog through something so luridly colored **_it pains the eyes to glance upon_**, to which the 'Pureblood Clod's Nightmare' replied, **_Well_****_, you're certainly making an effort, now aren't you?_**

In rather more relaxed reply, the Half-Blood Prince carefully meted out, **_It's not my fault you're worth it._**

There was only a devilish-looking smiley face in return. Harry grinned, shook his head, and pulled out some parchment to send the professor a thank-you note. Having had it drilled into his head at the Dursleys' (on Dudley's behalf, of course), it was really second nature, same as knowing his way around sharp utensils and various other implements. At least this had a decent point to it.

His only concession to distraction was to think, _Mum called Dad the Pureblood _Clod_?_

***

Draco was sitting on the staircase leading from the Entrance Hall when Bobby sat down next to him. Favoring his cousin a dejected glance, Draco ran his hand through his hair yet again.

"My father's going to kill me when I get – " Draco paused, frowning bitterly and reaching up to trace the faint scar along the side of his face. "Oh, that's right, I forgot. I don't -- "

"Yes, you do," Bobby countered firmly, slowly coming to kneel before Draco and place a hand on his shoulder. "I don't care if we have to assign you a Secret Keeper, your father's never coming near you again if I can help it. I read some of the newspaper articles in the library from when Sirius escaped. Wizards think guns are 'a sort of metal wand Muggles use to kill each other'."

Bobby's face hardened visibly and he reached into his robes, removing the Glock that he now kept with him at all times when he wasn't with Alex in his (their, for all intents and purposes) room and automatically checking to make sure the safety was on. He stared seriously at the boy before him. "Does this look like a wand, Drake?"

Draco started slightly at the familiar term Bobby was addressing him with, but shook his head 'no'. "And if we can manage to break his wand, or that of whoever tries to attack you, they're more than pretty much fucked."

Draco looked into Bobby's face, seeing the set tone of his expression and the warmth in his eyes as Bobby watched him. No one had ever looked at him that way except Ginny and, on occasion when he'd stayed at Hermione's home, Mr. and Mrs. Granger. Bobby always seemed to look at him like that and hadn't made him do anything to earn it. He didn't know what to do.

"It's okay to be confused," Bobby told him and Draco remembered that Bobby could perceive everything he was experiencing. "It's not okay to let that confusion make you forget what you know, feel is right. That's how people will use you and it's up to you never to take that lying down, understand? And, anyway, no longer a Slytherin or not, you'll always have Professor Snape to ask whatever you feel you can't ask us. Trust him."

Draco nodded, locking eyes with Bobby to allow him to see that he meant it.

"We're family, Drake," Bobby said softly. "No one will change that unless we let them. And if you don't believe me, just ask Nick. He's been beating me over the head with that fact for weeks now."

Draco sighed, a small smile coming to his face. "I don't know why you're not crazy," he murmured, hoping vainly that Bobby wouldn't hear him though he knew it to be impossible.

"Who said I wasn't?" Bobby asked quietly, promptly Draco to look at him again. "I've spent so much time monitoring myself, trying to keep from tipping over some kind of edge..."

The older man sighed and slowly turned to sit back down next to Draco. "The problem with that is there's no sign that says, **DANGER, INSANITY AHEAD!**, No guardrails, no brakes. All I can do is try not to let myself go too fast. That way, if someone else like Alex sees a cliff coming, I have a chance to be warned to stop in time. Worrying about this or that, believe it or not, tends to hasten that which you dread."

Bobby looked at Draco again. "But you've decided you want nothing to do with the Dark Arts. I decided I wasn't going to be one of the majority of foster kids lost in my hopelessness. Crime is not better than nothing. Nothing is not better than crime. There are always two sides, probably even more. More than that, there's a choice. It may be a feat of deduction to get to it, but if you study the problem outright, there's always at least one glaringly wrong answer -- to use a Scholastic Aptitude Test analogy. And if you know anything at all about what you're facing, chances are you can spot it a mile off. All you have to do is look."

For the first time, Draco let Bobby put an arm around his shoulder. _I can't worry_, he told himself firmly. _I can't let myself die before I've even battled. Even if the battle never comes, I'll have the reward of relief._

"Come on," Bobby said after a while, "Dumbledore's going to announce the prefectures in a bit. You don't want to miss that."

"I've already been a prefect," Draco shrugged, surprised at how calm he felt all of a sudden.

"We'll I've been a valedictorian twice -- so?"

"What's a valedictorian?" Draco asked as they skipped the Vanishing staircase and continued toward his new common room. Bobby laughed.

...TBC...

**A/N:** Wow, that was even more fun to write than I thought it'd be. ::glee:: Ten points to the hybrid House of your choice for whomever guesses who the new Muggle Studies instructor will be.


	20. I've Come to Expect the Standards

**Ominous**  
_By Angelfirenze_

**Disclaimer: **Duh.

**Summary:** Whatever happens, happens. ::gives muse and canon writers richly deserved scowl::

**Inspiration:** The character William Costigan, Jr., from _The Departed_, one of my all-time favorite movies. The instrumental work of Clint Mansell, the composer of the score for another favorite of mine, _Requiem for a Dream_. That should give you a clue or thirty. Secondly, I've seen the trailer for _Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince_ several times now and Hero Fiennes-Tiffin's portrayal of young Tom Riddle _still _scares the ever-loving shit out of me. Enough said.

**Dedications: **To everyone who's still reading this after so long. Stupid writer's block.

**Rating: M**, for the obvious reasons.

**Timeline: **It is the same day as the previous chapter's immediate events, only an hour afterward. The naming of the prefects hasn't taken place yet.

**Notes:** Good grief, Snape and Bobby are stealing this chapter from me and making things far more complicated than they already are. If I could buy them both muzzles...actually, that wouldn't help in the slightest. *clears throat*

Part XIX: I've Come to Expect the Standards You Have Set

The Hogwarts Dungeons – The Potions Master's Office  
10:13am  
24 July, 2004

Severus Snape wasn't accustomed to being startled by others. The very idea that Robert Goren had just managed to get any sort of drop on him was indescribably infuriating. The detective, however, now back in what appeared to be (or more accurately, for all intents and purposes, was) his more usual form; the older, larger man visibly of forty-three years that Snape had met mere weeks ago (had it only been weeks – it seemed far longer, given the magnitude of what had happened in this short time), having dispensed with the navy blue robes he'd worn regularly almost since his arrival and, at the moment, looking every inch the formidable law enforcement officer he'd been credited as. Snape hated being intimidated. It was a masterful job to hide such in the presence of a Legilimens even more powerful than himself or, seemingly, the Dark Lord. After all, even the most feared Dark wizard of the age (this man's _father_, Snape thought, suppressing a shudder) had needed to learn the arts of delving and blocking between minds, whereas Goren made no effort whatever and achieved far more enviable results -- and was now watching Snape with narrowed dark eyes that soon rolled slightly in irritation.

"When you're done, can we possibly get to the point of my being here or should we compare date books and check which time is convenient for the both of us?"

Snape frowned, but couldn't do much else in the face of Detective Goren's rightful criticism. He held back a bitter sigh and motioned toward one of the chairs before his private office desk. He'd noticed shortly after registering Goren's presence that the other man had immediately taken note of nearly -- if not every -- object and potential exit within the room and had not relaxed his stance at all. Part of him wondered if it was post-traumatic paranoia or the result of more than a decade's Muggle police work. A small part of him he didn't want to acknowledge held no curiosity in the answer.

"Snape," Goren snapped and the professor threw his hands upward and settled himself behind his desk.

"What is it you want, Goren?"

The detective fingered the fabric of his suit, a rueful smile on his face. "I need an automatic spell or charm to tailor my clothes. I noticed something like it utilized in the tents Harry described the Weasley family and others had during the Quidditch World Cup they attended. It seemed like ordinary Muggle tents on the outside and during construction but turned out to comfortably hold at least six, as well as having several different rooms. I don't want that, exactly, but the idea is the same. If I can shape-shift like this, I don't want to have to buy two sets of every item of clothing I own -- especially as I get them tailored at home in New York, as well. A charm I could put on them after I got them home would be much more convenient."

Snape sighed, pinching his nose with his right hand before producing his wand with his left. "You could go to Madam Malkins for assistance. She is the school seamstress, after all -- or you could have gone to Gladrags. There was no need -- "

Detective Goren frowned, his face subsequently flattening. "I don't know if you've _noticed_, Snape, but there have been Death Eaters skulking around the village for the past month. Any one of them would be just dandy for an excuse to take me back to..."

Detective Goren shuddered slightly and Snape would have missed it if he hadn't been looking closely enough. "I won't go into Hogsmeade unless I know I can keep myself, Alex, Harry, and Draco safe. And even when I do, the fact that I'm no longer fully human or...or the spawn of..."

Snape watched Detective Goren clench his fists at his sides for a moment, closing his eyes and muttering something under his breath. The detective bit his lip, lifting his right hand to his forehead before bringing to his abdomen then his left shoulder and lifting his left hand in unison with his right to each shoulder. "Amen," Goren whispered, his eyes opening, and Snape was surprised to see tears forming there.

"You believe in God," Snape breathed out before he could stop himself. Goren raised an eyebrow in irony.

"You're the second Slytherin to make that _surprising discovery_." He smirked now, reaching within his breast pocket and removing a small oval object on a golden chain. "This was my mother's gift to me. She gave it to me yesterday when I went to see her in the Hospital Wing. It's the shield of St. Michael, the patron saint of police officers. She meant to give it to me years ago when I first got my gold shield -- " Here, Goren blanched slightly before clarifying for Snape's benefit. "My badge...but she was too sick then and couldn't remember when I'd visit her. I…"

Detective Goren trailed off, his shoulders sinking visibly and the flat affect he now wore whenever he wasn't working on anything of late coming over him once more. "You're afraid of me." It wasn't a question and Snape sighed inwardly.

"Would it help you to know that I am not fearful of _you_, Detective, but -- "

Goren nodded dismissively, his mouth twisting in an uncharacteristic but entirely appropriate scowl, "But of the blood that runs in my veins -- whatever the hell it is." Goren balled his fists at his sides, producing his wand from an inner pocket, as well as his handkerchief and a small crystal flask.

Suddenly, it was as clear to Snape what Goren intended to do as a stranger having taken a photograph beforehand and plastering it within his mind. The switchblade Goren always carried flashed and before Snape could even master himself enough to protest, Goren sliced his palm open again and carefully collected the blood that flowed from the gouge into the bottle.

Snape stood transfixed as the darkly colored liquid, but with an odd quality to it that he could not identify in the half-light of his dimmed office lamps, bled sluggishly -- the shallow wound knitting, they could both see, even as they watched. Detective Goren growled -- more of a vibration Snape could feel than a sound, even at this short distance -- and snapped the knife shut, opting instead to catch his fingernails into the barely open skin left in his palm and tearing it away once more.

Snape gasped before he could stop himself, his eyes widening against his will as the wound bled freely once more, now unhindered by Goren's enhanced vitality. Some detached part of him understood this fact, remembering that the only wounds Lupin ever sported for long had been self-inflicted during the full moons of his life before the Wolfsbane potion. He suspected the detective would have a scar and knew as much. Goren gritted his teeth and resolutely filled the rest of the bottle before capping it and wrapping his damaged hand tightly in the handkerchief.

"Test it," Goren commanded roughly, thrusting the now-full vial forward, and Snape saw a wild glimmer in his eyes now. "Do whatever the fuck you have to -- just figure out what's in it so I can..."

Goren was shaking now, unconsciously lifting his hands to his face and muttering again, his eyes trailing to the ceiling and Snape knew he was praying to a God Snape had never been able to bring himself to believe in. Against everything he'd trained himself to act as over the decades of his life, Snape sighed and waved his wand, conjuring a chair and gently charming Goren's body into it. Immediately, the detective folded in upon himself and Snape could see his shoulders shaking with the effort (or possibly despite it) of trying not to cry.

Goren spoke suddenly, then, his voice barely audible even in the oppressive silence of the thick walls surrounding them, "Dumbledore knew...knew my father -- when he was at school."

He grimaced, visibly forcing himself to speak, "Professor McGonagall told me she was only twelve when he first came here. She -- I knew she didn't want to tell me, she shivered when she thought about it. She was a year ahead of him and she can still remember...the deadness in his eyes, the emptiness that emanated from him when they weren't supervised by teachers. The cruelty he…inflicted upon his peers."

Snape could imagine this all too easy, as he'd seen far more in the incarnation of Voldemort he'd come to know much later on, but Goren wasn't finished, it seemed.

He was speaking vapidly, as though imagining himself elsewhere doing enjoyable things. Snape could not blame him in this instance. Goren fidgeted with his handkerchief, lifting it to his face and sniffing deeply at the blood that had dried in it without even thinking. Snape felt his skin prickle, but allowed himself no discernible reaction.

"She told me about the way the animals in their Care of Magical Creatures classes used to shy and huddle away from him -- Lupin said they did the same to him when Harry arranged for me to Fire Call him. But I – Hagrid took me out for my first actual practical lesson with him only two days ago and the cre -- the _animals_, they didn't seem to mind me very much. The hippogriffs -- Lupin said they hate wolves, it's in their blood, so why did they bow to me? I'm -- I'm Dark, too -- they should hate me all the same..."

Goren wasn't talking to Snape now -- that much was obvious. His eyes were trained somewhere far off that only he could see. He leaned forward and unwrapped his hand, inspecting the again-knitting (this time with a silvery line sliced diagonally across his palm that crossed, Snape noticed, the older scar from the self-inflicted protection wound Goren had given himself in the Headmaster's office. The two gashes formed a thin 'X' shape the length of the pale palm and Snape had to force himself to stop examining it along with Goren, who he knew would have noticed even if he didn't appear to.

There was dried blood smeared over the skin of his hand now and Goren balled his fist again, bringing it to his nose and inhaling powerfully once more. Snape wondered terribly all of a sudden, fascinated at what scents the other man perceived now, knowing they were so much more intricate and pungent than anything he was capable of. Goren was still shaking, it seemed.

Then Goren sat up straight and Snape was taken aback to find that he had been incorrect in his estimation of Goren's body language. He glanced down at his own hands and saw them shivering (surprise and something akin to terror raced through him and he clenched his own hands to try and still their movements, to little avail). Snape lifted his eyes and forced himself to meet Goren's line of sight, take in the haggard, desperate features of the man across from him. Why he suddenly found it easier to face down the Dark Lord, he wasn't at all certain of.

"I need the flask," Snape said quietly, marveling at how calm he was able to keep his own voice despite wanting so dreadfully to separate himself from this man's presence. It was irrational, he knew, as Lupin had never bothered him so deeply -- but then, Snape had seen Goren's true form more often than not over the past fortnight. The silver eyes, the thin (but not at all perpetually emaciated, as his own was), almost regal frame -- a careless sort of grace Snape himself had been incapable of even at his most relaxed. He hated it with every fiber of his being.

There was a list he kept in the recesses of his mind of those few who'd tormented him with it, knowingly or not. The Dark Lord and Albus Dumbledore had reigned equally at the top, James and Harry Potter not far behind -- Sirius Black, his own Housemate, Regulus -- his student, Draco Malfoy, before he'd been so shaken and stirred -- even Lily, in her own terribly unassuming way, had seemed almost to float as she'd moved -- Viktor Krum (not to mention Harry Potter, himself, for this supplementary reason) on a broomstick had been another, less obvious addition, no less deserving of Snape's envy in his eyes. Not when seen skimming the lake on countless nights when the haughty brat ought to have been in bed. Karkaroff had, no doubt, allowed his star pupil the run of Durmstrang and Hogwarts, it seemed, would be no exception.

Goren outdid nearly them all and his complete ignorance of that fact only cemented Snape's irritation, his dissatisfaction.

"Is there something you wanted, Snape?" Goren asked suddenly (or perhaps not -- he'd been more than a little distracted, damn himself), a minute frown on his face. "Aside from the flask I've been trying to hand you for the past five minutes?"

Snape started slightly, his hand darting out to grasp the bottle and place it on the desk before him. "I shall have your results as soon as _humanly possible_."

Goren had flinched visibly then, his face draining almost deathly, and Snape had a fleeting thrill of satisfaction.

Then Goren's face had hardened again, several of the jars lining Snape's shelves began to crack one after another, their liquid contents beginning to drip and splatter steadily to the floor, and his wand appeared almost from nothingness. Snape stumbled back, readying shields of all kinds as he went, but Goren simply pointed his wand at himself, performing a complicated rune before his own face -- his now cold eyes never leaving Snape's as the glamour that had been his identity for so long was methodically, maliciously stripped away. Snape only just managed to keep his mouth from dropping open as the transformation continued in a gruesome magical parody of Muggle facial reconstruction.

The body within the suit seemed almost to melt, the height lessening slightly, hair straightening, eyes again becoming the hoary shade Snape had come to loathe so much. The hands were at once agile and nearly flawless (Snape noted with warring intrigue and barely restrained vindictive pleasure that the ugly wounds in those otherwise unblemished hands had remained -- so his theory had been correct), the previously immaculate suit hanging around Goren's frame (Goren was forced now to hold his trousers up as he stared unblinkingly at Snape) like that of a little boy stepping into his father's clothing, playing at being Daddy for a time.

"You're a fucking creep, you know that?" Goren hissed in the now familiar higher register he'd truly inherited with the commencement of his own emergence into manhood. "You know, if you want to see me strip, at least be _honest _about it!"

Snape started again, feeling suddenly as though ice cold water had been thrown over his head. "I…I -- what -- _what_?"

Goren was smirking unbearably at him now. "Oh -- _sorry_, Professor. My _mistake_…"

Snape gritted his teeth, entrusting every inch of self-discipline he'd ever mastered not to react to the detective's defensive taunts. The younger professor thrice-damned himself -- he should have _seen it_ _coming!_

Goren had, for all intents and purposes, been brutally molested and very nearly sodomized. It only stood to reason that when in the company of men he viewed something akin to a possible equal, now coupled with the animalistic territorialism of the supernatural creature he'd become, his actions and reactions would now be extremely skewed, if not permanently altered to an almost unpredictable state. And 'almost' was certainly not enough justification.

_How_ had he missed so many glaring clues? He was a fool, an imbecile, and had firmly posited his head within the lion's jaws. The rather ironic fact that Goren was still a Gryffindor was not lost upon him.

Snape exhaled slowly, forcing his entire body to relax and raising his hands -- dissembling the shields he'd risen so hastily in the wake of Goren's onslaught, and allowing -- needing Goren to see he meant absolutely no harm. He supposed the lupine equivalent might have been baring his throat to a dominant member of a pack. He was by no means educated in the behavioral rituals of werewolves, but he knew better than to attack any animal (or part-human) that felt at all cornered -- lest he wished to come away missing vital sections of his person. Lord Voldemort, he knew, Lucius Malfoy, and definitely -- or, in this case, _especially_ Fenrir Greyback had certainly had no such compunctions which had led to the entire indefensible situation he -- they found themselves in.

Snape spoke quietly, but clearly, his voice firm, "Detective, I have no more wish to engage in any sort of sexual act with you than I would to walk in front of the Hogwarts Express barreling toward Hogsmeade Station at full-throttle. I have no wish to attack you. No wish to harm you."

With those words, he very carefully loosened the harsh grip on his own wand and held it out, palm up, toward Goren, who now stared at it, his thin, unshaven face forcibly passive. Faster than Snape could react, Goren snatched up the wand and shoved it into one of the sagging pockets of his ill-fitting suit.

"You mentioned earlier wanting a Tailoring Charm for your clothing," Snape continued in the same unaggressive tone. Goren's body slackened only partially, but enough for Snape to tell. "It is simple. I daresay you'll have mastered it within but a handful of attempts, if that."

No longer trusting himself to speak, Snape reached carefully down onto his now haphazard desktop (Goren's anger-fueled magic had certainly done a number on everything within reach) for the first quill he could find, uncaring that it had been a broken one he'd meant to replace. He jammed it into an unseen inkwell and brought both damaged quill and crimped parchment before him, scribbling down the spell and slowly extending it to Detective Goren, who took it and quickly thrust it into another pocket of his suit jacket.

"I could..." Professor Snape's voice failed him again as the sickening change in Detective Goren's demeanor overwhelmed him. He abandoned speech and simply gestured toward the other man's clothing. Goren glanced down at himself, seeing where the gaps in his collar exposed scarring from Greyback's ministrations, and shuddered audibly, a sob coming forth before he could stop it.

Wordlessly, he nodded, clenching his eyes shut again and mouthing more wholly foreign, equally unanswered (Snape assumed) prayers and performing the same strange hand gestures he had earlier. Once Snape was done, he murmured Goren's name, attracting his attention once more and nodding in careful dismissal before backing away, himself.

Goren brought the tiny Shield pendant to his lips, more tears spilling into his now-fitted collar, holding it there as he turned to leave. It was only afterward that Snape realized Goren still had possession of his wand. Damning it all, Snape threw himself into his desk chair and buried his hands in his hair, completely at a loss.

***

Anthony Goren sat bent over one of the desks scattered throughout various empty classrooms in this crazy-assed school, unable to decide whether or not he was grateful or unnerved that Professor McGonagall had turned one into a proper architectural draftsman's desk for Nick to complete projects that were delivered to him and back to his job at home somehow through means he had no real understanding of or wish to do so.

He was exhausted himself, but Nick was determined that if Bobby couldn't sleep then he damned sure wouldn't if he could keep awake. It was bad enough the previous evening when Alex had needed to be dragged down to the Great Hall to eat while Bobby was asleep and Nick had taken it upon himself to sit with his little brother until she'd returned.

He paused now, breathing heavily – trying in vain to dispel the images, sounds of Bobby's vivid night terrors, coupled with what were obviously wet dreams. Nick had only just managed to keep his voice blank and face as calm as possible when Bobby had climaxed, roaring awake and beginning to sob.

He'd felt his own heart rate quicken, completely at a loss as to how to comfort his brother, or indeed mask his own revulsion. How did he explain that his disgust wasn't at Bobby, but the sick, depraved son of a bitch who'd done this to him? Bobby had dissolved fully into crying jags so overwhelming he'd nearly fallen out of his bed. Nick had been on the point of taking him up in a hug, soiled sheets or no, when he'd noticed that some of Bobby's scratches had begun to bleed again when his distress had led him to rupture them anew. Nick hated that he couldn't touch his own brother, bring him comfort, not caring of being contaminated or whatever -- if he could share this torment with Bobby, lessen it somehow, then God damn it, he'd do just that, but he knew Bobby would never allow it -- would find some way to have himself destroyed rather than risk making anyone he cared for even the slightest bit like him.

Nick sat now, staring unseeingly at the bare drafts board before him, his mind far more productively occupied on devising elaborate revenge schemes for the Riddle motherfucker and his merry band of kidnapping rapists. It'd be a hell of a lot more satisfying if some of _them_ were left thrusting helplessly through unbearable arousal and orgasms stemming from disturbing dreams that just couldn't seem to abate, but _no_ -- that would indicate life was fair, and who could have _that_?

Droplets appeared on the blank graph paper under his hands and Nick reached up to swipe at his watery eyes, giving up work as a bad job for the time being and going to find Aaron, who was likely outside playing with the Weasley twins, Luna, or Dudley, all of whom had declared themselves his son's de facto babysitters for the time being. Aaron was safer with them, he and Sara had soon realized, given that Luna and the twins knew specifically what to avoid and Dudley had been exposed to Harry's accidental magic for years now.

Nick sighed, remembering not for the first time indications of what had to be immature bursts of magic in his son. Sara seemed alright with the idea so long, she said, as Aaron attended magical schools in the United States and wasn't expected to attend Hogwarts or any of the others far away here in Europe. And only so long as Bobby was stable enough by the time Aaron reached school-age to help them traverse their little boy's bursts of magic in the hopes of not getting him into any trouble.

That it could be a positive exposure for the both of them wasn't lost on either. Nick stared downward at the grass under his feet, wondering when noon was going to finally come so they could go back to the Great Hall and find out about more of the so-called 'improvements' being made to this maddening place. His conversation with Harry, Hermione, and Ron the previous evening after the trying experience of seeing Bobby through dinner kept playing in his mind whenever he thought about what might happen after they left the school to go home to New York.

Harry and Hermione had each expressed doubt about remaining in the wizarding world, themselves, once they'd all become of age and graduated within a few years' time, leaving Ron gaping at them in disbelief at the very idea of them wanting to leave, though Nick understood precisely what they meant and tried to help them explain such.

The threat of the revolting parody of the sinister clown from Stephen King's _It_, aside, it was becoming more and more apparent that anyone of a Muggle-raised background was highly unwelcome and patronized, even amongst those who considered themselves above the brutality of those hooded hacks who got their rocks off playing at supremacy and 'purity of the magical "_race"_' when in reality they were nothing more than fascist serial killers.

At least in the Muggle world, at least _some _people _pretended_ to see the wrong in what they were watching happen around them, but it seemed that as long as none of the wizarding 'community' (Nick scoffed at the irony of the word) didn't find a Dark Mark hanging over _their_ home, they could and did delude themselves into believing they were indestructible. All that was needed, really, were a few homemade explosives and some of what he knew Bobby figured out long ago in chemistry class and the wizarding world would be fucked, good and proper.

It was their unknowing luck that Bobby was far too decent a man to even consider such tactics of 'awakening', no matter what the potential benefits. Nick, however, wasn't entirely sure he himself was, though, and that troubled him more than anything else.

Nick halted in front of the huge oak doors that led out of the school onto the grounds and gave himself a vigorous mental shake. "What the fuck is wrong with me?" he snarled quietly, reaching up and pinching himself the way his mother used to in Mass when he and Bobby would chatter and argue while awaiting their turn in the confessional booth.

Dear God, if he succumbed to any of those ideas he'd be even worse than the ones who'd done this to his family. They enjoyed their evil pure and undiluted -- twisting it in the guise of some 'greater good' would make him no better than Hitler or this Grindelwald psycho Bobby told him Dumbledore had once been friendly with.

"_Friendly_," Nick snorted amusedly now, remembering Bobby's tone of voice when he'd said it. "Boyfriends, more like it. Almost nothing's a better persuasion than sex. No wonder Grindelwald had been able to nearly..."

Nick trailed off from his own idiotic distraction, rolling his eyes and casting his gaze around for the Quidditch field where the Weasleys were teaching Aaron broom safety that day.

Sara had threatened them with certain bodily harm if they, Luna, or Dudley tried to recruit her son into any mischief, but they had all dutifully obeyed her, showing him nothing more than amounted to children's games and stories from a book called The Tales of Beedle the Bard, which sounded a lot like Wizarding versions of fairy tales.

Ron had made a point of telling the pair of them about the time Fred and George had tried to trick him into an Unbreakable Vow, as well as when Fred had partially transfigured his teddy bear into a spider. The wicked grin he'd gotten at Sara's death glare aimed at the twins told Nick he'd been waiting a terribly long time for _that_ particular revenge.

"Daddy!" Aaron's excited voice carried across the grounds and Nick looked toward Hagrid's house to find Aaron covered in dirt, his prized broomstick not far away, as something was tearing ferociously at the earth in front of the cabin. "Fred'n'George gots nifflers – Haggy, too!"

The half-giant in question laughed heartily at Aaron's mispronunciation of his name and leaned forward on a shovel he held, waving gallantly at Nick, who waved back, breaking into a jog.

"Nifflers?" he asked when he arrived, tilting his head down at the whirlwind of soil coming up from the ditch. Little balls of fluff with long, thin snouts and feet were diving in and out of the dirt like dolphins at play, bringing up what Nick now recognized as Knuts and Sickles.

"They're mad about shiny objects," Fred smirked, gently elbowing George before he continued. "Our mate, Lee Jordan, levitated a whole load of them through Umbridge's window -- she had these hideous rings and all kinds of shiny rubbish all over her office and they tore it apart. The old toad blamed Hagrid for it and ran him and his brother Grawp off."

Here Fred's face took on both an apologetic and infuriated mix of expression as he glanced at Hagrid, who immediately waved him off.

"Ah, no harm done -- me an' Grawpy hid up in the mountains like I tol' Harry, Ron, and Hermione. We got on fine and all. It wasn't much fer Grawpy to get us food, I just needed ter find wood ter roast it and there's plenty o' that. We didn' starve or freeze or nothin'."

"Small comfort," George sighed, brightening suddenly when Aaron ran over to him and shoved a bunch of Knuts in his hands.

"George, can -- " Aaron turned and looked shyly at his father, who watched back, intrigued both at his son's request, as well as his seemingly sudden British accent. "Fred'n'George gots a store in the village and I wanna go get stuff. Magic stuff."

"I'm not sure they make toys for kids your age, little man," Nick said consolingly, bending down and ruffling Aaron's hair. "Maybe you should save that money for when we get home. If wizards have toy stores in New York, you and Uncle Bobby can go see about some stuff then."

Aaron brightened slightly, having deflated after realizing that Fred and George had a 'grown-up' store. "Can I gets a broom washin' kit like Harry? I want my broom to stay clean an' stuff."

Nick laughed a bit. "Well, maybe if you ask nicely, Harry will show you how to use his. That way, if we can get you your own, you'll already know all about what to do."

Aaron's ecstatic smile at his words warmed Nick's heart in a way it hadn't been very much recently. It was one of the reasons he loved his son so much -- his uncanny ability to lift Nick's spirits no matter how low they were.

"Oi, you lot," Hagrid interjected suddenly, grinning and gesturing toward the castle. "It's near 'bout noontime. McGonagall's goin' ter announce the new Prefects!"

"Ooooh!" Aaron cheered, tossing his broom easily over his shoulder like a seasoned Quidditch player and eliciting grins and chuckles from the adults around him.

"You'll want to have Bobby charm your windows shatter-proof and cushion them," Fred said with a chuckle, grinning wickedly at Nick. "Or find somewhere really isolated and safe because he's going to outgrow that one really quickly. At any rate, you wouldn't want to break the American Statute of Secrecy anymore than ours. I don't know what your Secretary of Magic would do if he's seen, but you'll probably be paying a lot of gold you don't have yet."

They were walking now and George shook his head, "Maybe not -- he's a Black, too, even if he's a Muggle and Sara's one by marriage. I bet there's some way to make a case for that, Nick. They can't keep family gold away from non-magical blood and marriage heirs whatever they try and tell you."

Nick frowned, "You two know what you're talking about."

George shrugged, "Our mum's got a second cousin, actually -- half-blood but Muggle-raised like Harry, defected back (can't _imagine why_) -- who's an accountant in your world. She's a Prewett by birth and they've still got mounds of gold -- probably as much as the Blacks and Potter -- Potter-Gorens, but she won't touch it. She says she's a Weasley and chose to be one and Dad's _blood traitor _troubles are hers, too. She doesn't give a damn about the money. "

"Ron knows nothing about it," Fred continued, raising his eyebrows nonchalantly. "He'd've hit the roof. The rest of us figure we're better off making our own way, you know -- figuring out getting around problems instead of wallowing in them, but Ron'd rather coast on someone else's hard work, the selfish prat. Between the few of us, I don't know how Harry and Hermione can stand him sometimes. He's my brother – just like Percy, unfortunately -- " and here, Fred scowled momentarily before letting it drop and going on. "But he's got his head so far up his arse -- they both do, it's a wonder they don't need a _Lumos_ to see where they're going."

George picked up again, then, "There are more important things in life than money and advancement in the very same Ministry that's robbing everyone's cupboards while having the nerve to say they're helping anyone but themselves, but neither will hear a word of it."

Fred rolled his eyes, but then put on a thoughtful look, "We're not sure what Ginny wants to do yet, but she's damned good at helping us come up with ideas for products. It'd be great to bring her onboard after she graduates -- maybe even have her in over summer holidays before then. If not, then she'll find her feet somewhere she wants to be. The Hat put both she and Ron in Slytherdor -- ambition _and _bravery, I wonder if it would have done for the rest of us. Maybe we should ask McGonagall if we can be re-Sorted, too."

Nick nodded, finding himself filling with a deep respect for the majority of the Weasley family, which got him thinking. "Bobby says Harry owns stock in the shop you two have in Diagon Alley – can Muggle money be converted to wizard gold?"

Both twins stopped and blinked momentarily before gaping at Nick, who simply watched them expectantly. "Well?"

"I -- yeah," George stammered, wondering where the hell this was going. "Yeah, our oldest brother, Bill, works at Gringotts and says the reverse is true, as well. Muggle money is sent back into circulation after Muggleborns buy their supplies, though. We have no use for it, same as you probably don't ours."

Nick rubbed his newly-shaved chin, looking upward at the trees overhead. "If it's true what you say about my being a legal member of the Black family and entitled to assets as yet untouched, then I'd like to use some of it to purchase stock in your shop. Help you expand, if you want."

Nick paused and thought some more, "If there's an American branch, maybe Bobby and I can help set you two up with contacts in the same business or thereabouts on that side of the pond. Harry says you sell Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder so you already do business in some fashion with other continents because you needed a licensing agreement to handle and sell their products, but if you could open subsidiaries in other countries and allow both Muggle and Wizarding contacts of your own choosing to run the day to day business, would you?"

The dumbfounded expressions on the twins' faces were enough answer, it seemed, because Hagrid laughed loudly and cuffed the both around the head, knocking them both to the ground. "Take the deal, yeh prats! Isn' this just what yeh've bin waitin' fer?"

The Weasley twins scrambled back to their feet and several rushed agreements (with promises to set up meetings later that night) Nick picked Aaron up and put the boy on his shoulders as they reentered the castle. For now, they had other engagements to see to.

***

Professor McGonagall unfurled the scroll before her, glad of the Quick-Dry ink that had been used expressly for this purpose. After much debate and some near-squabbling, the Hogwarts staff (having overruled Dumbledore more than once for attempting to inject his _own_ biases into the selection despite having just warned against them, bashfully backing down once he'd been reminded of his consistent failing to heed his own advice) had finally chosen Prefects for all of the new Houses with members old enough to perform said duties.

Holden's own House, as well as Slytherpuff, would have to wait until the school year officially resumed before their selections were made, as they would need time to Sort and re-Sort the entire school body and that would probably postpone classes at least a day. Still, all felt the time would be well-spent if it led to less bloodshed and more unity, more cooperation in the now-inevitable war on the horizon.

McGonagall magically amplified her voice and began to read to the reassembled few occupants of the school. Even most of the ghosts were now attendant, having become curious as to the Fates of those such as the former four House Ghosts, as well as the living assembled beneath them. Rather than lead with another introduction, as Dumbledore had, McGonagall got straight down to business.

"Ravendor Prefect: Hermione Granger."

Hermione's mouth fell open now, as the students around her began cheering, but McGonagall quickly silenced them all. "Please hold your celebrations until the assignments are complete."

Almost instantly, the Great Hall was silent once more.

"Slytherdor Prefect: Harry Potter."

Ginny nearly let out a squeak of happiness but clapped her hands over her mouth and shot a now beet-red Harry a look of glee. Ron looked mutinous for a moment, but was quickly silenced by Ginny's wand pointed between his eyes.

"Ravenpuff Prefect: Draco Malfoy."

Alone at his own table, Draco's head snapped up to stare wide-eyed at McGonagall, who continued reading as though she had noticed nothing.

"The new History of Magic professor: Professor Remus Lupin, who has graciously consented to rejoin the Hogwarts faculty under a different post. Professor Binns, who did not seem to register his dismissal, was exorcised earlier this morning and a monument to him built near his old classroom. Graffiti or similar acts are strictly forbidden and punishable by multiple detentions, which Mr. Filch will be absolutely _beside himself_ to administer."

This was followed by a look that clearly told the student body: _Oh,_ _just _try_ it._

Even Alex found herself clapping at no longer having to listen to excruciating, seemingly unending monologue on wars of a species that simply didn't seem interested in getting themselves together beyond committing acts of atrocities against themselves and others. She'd gladly attend Bobby's classes along with him now that it wasn't guaranteed she'd need to drink espresso beforehand or imagine various goblins accidentally destroying themselves in hasty demise of their own making. _What awaits the sin of greed_, indeed, she thought irritably before returning to attention.

"Further to the events of the previous year, the Inquisitorial Squad of the former _High Inquisitor of Hogwarts_," and here McGonagall paused to visibly steer her expression back away from its burgeoning distaste (which was putting it mildly) and cleared her throat to multiple titters and muted calls of agreement. "Has been permanently and forever more disbanded. The Defense Association, alternately known as _Dumbledore's Army_ -- "

Everyone looked at Dumbledore, who was visibly blinking back tears of admiration and gratitude toward the students who'd shown him such loyalty despite his tendency to benignly manipulate and mislead.

" -- Will now henceforth be a subsidiary of the Defense Against the Dark Arts class and more or less a legitimate study group dedicated to finding humane efforts to counter those of the cohorts of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Further to that effect, given his active role in diluting the efforts of the one, the _abominable _Dolores Umbridge this past year, we, the staff of Hogwarts, would like to offer Harry Potter an honorary professorship and recommend that he be allowed to bypass what little is left of his Defense Against the Dark Arts training for the remainder of his career here at Hogwarts, instead utilizing those time periods to study in the career of his choice, whichever that may be. Further to _that_ reasoning, the N.E.W.T. examiner for Defense Against the Dark Arts has personally requested that Mr. Potter be allowed to sit the Defense licensing test later this month."

Harry felt his face drain of color, absolute shock and awe overtaking him as Ron slapped him on the back. Professor McGonagall again pretended to ignore his reaction, simply looking over at Harry and asking, "Well, Mr. Potter, do you accept?"

Harry blinked once more, seemingly unable to comprehend this new development, and Ron and Ginny both gave in and simultaneously whacked Harry over the back of the head.

"_Answer_, you dolt!" Ginny hissed, forcing back a giggle.

"I -- uh," Harry stammered, shaking his head unconsciously. "I, I -- yeah, I mean, _yes. _Yes, I accept!"

Professor McGonagall finally allowed herself a small smile. "Fantastic, Mr. Potter. Ms. Granger, Mr. Malfoy -- "

Draco's head snapped up and he glanced at Hermione, who was again watching McGonagall but clutching at her face with her fingers.

"Yourselves and Mr. Potter all achieved 'Outstanding' scores on your Potions O.W.L.s and have been granted access to Professor Snape's N.E.W.T. class. The examiners for both the _Charms_ _and_ _Arithmancy_ N.E.W.T.s have requested Hermione Granger be allowed to bypass whatever, and I quote, _'_bloody _minuscule_ training she has left', as well. Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Snape further explicitly requests that you might agree to serve as his apprentice in hope that you will become a Potions Master yourself if you so desire."

Hermione had buried her face once more in her arms, sobbing audibly, and Luna was patting her tranquilly on her shoulders, a smile on her face. Dudley was staring at Hermione's sobbing, positively mystified and thoroughly glad Luna was doing the whole comforting thing because he would have been completely out of his depth. Now, though, it was Draco's turn for absolute astonishment, but he recovered more quickly and nodded firmly at Professor Snape, who merely nodded once back.

"Finally," Professor McGonagall resumed, at last allowing an actual smile to grace her usually severe-looking expression. "We would like to announce that the individual subjects of Wizard and Muggle Studies will henceforth be taught by Andromeda and Theodore Tonks, respectively, with some assistance from their daughter, Hufflepuff alumnus and Auror Nymphadora Tonks, who will also be assisting in tightening the security of the castle during the coming months.

"Aurors Kingsley Shacklebolt and Alastor Moody will part of the contingent assigned to guard Hogsmeade and have ordered that all students be allowed to perform defensive and offensive spells of less than lethal quality whenever the situation arises. I believe a number of those who were members of Potter's study group this previous term will be happy to assist in helping younger students in mastering such spells and counter-curses."

There was ready, unanimous murmur of affirmation from everyone but a contrite-looking Draco Malfoy and intrigued Holden Granger and Professor McGonagall gave another decisive nod before looking once more down at the parchment before her.

"Ah, yes, and the new post of Legilimency and Occlumency of all levels of aptitude and learning -- offered to students of the sufficient fortitude and discipline, as well as being in need of an instructor of significantly more patience than Professor Snape, himself, admits he will _ever_ possess – " Here, Snape himself, snorted and Professor McGonagall hid another small smile.

" -- Is being recommended for Detective Robert Goren if and as long as he chooses to receive students. Once he returns to the United States after completing his training in a few short weeks, measures will be taken to afford him the instruments and whatever else he may need to tutor and/or apprentice whomever among you wishes to study under him. Further instructions will be issued to prospective students once he is resettled within the United States and only _if_ he consents to take on students. Efforts will also be made to coordinate with American schools so as not to overburden Detective Goren with students or dilute the quality of their education."

Bobby sat between Alex and Nick, his face oddly slack as he took in the idea that the professors of this school would actually trust him not to corrupt the minds of students potentially under his mentorship.

"Is she -- are they crazy?" he asked quietly, staring down at the empty plate in front of him, soon to be covered in raw meat of as yet undiscovered origin. He glanced over at Alex to find her smiling waveringly at him, tears in her eyes.

"Goren, if you don't take this post, I will kick you -- "

"Swiftly in my ass," Bobby smiled slightly, unable to do much more than raise his hand toward the front in a silent 'aye'.

He wasn't at all sure why, but he was pretty certain he could make out everyone there clapping for some reason.

**PART ONE - THE END**.

**A/N:** Well, now, you know. This chapter marks the end of what will apparently be a series. *nods* Wow. And it only took four freaking years. I figured I'd better save some of the stuff for the next story so that everyone will actually have things to _do._ Hope you're all enjoying so far. I certainly am. *ponders possible resolution in sight*

But, specifically here, I wanted to know how you guys felt about what Bobby is experiencing in the wake of terrible sexual trauma coupled with his no-longer being fully-human ON TOP of finding out that he's the son of Britain's most feared Dark Wizard of this age and that his appearance has been a complete fallacy all this time. I particularly wondered if the fact that now both VDO and Adrien Brody basically represent Bobby visually throughout the story changed anything.


	21. Changeover Interlude

**Changeover**  
_By Angelfirenze_

**Disclaimer: **Dick Wolf, Chris Carter, and J.K. Rowling own nearly all. Blame them.

**Summary: **It was no longer inconceivable to believe that he could be cared about, that he could return those feelings without ridicule.

**Notes: **It would be fortuitous to read the entirety of this oner's precursor, '**Ominous**' before embarking on this one. That may not be entirely necessary, however, but it's still an advantage. As most CI viewers will know, this story has been AU for a very long time. Bobby's brother's name was not Anthony, nor was his father's (one of them, anyway -- _damn _you, Warren Leight!). I have disregarded all that, as well as Donnie's existence as that would complicate Aaron's in this universe. Most Harry Potter readers will note how this plot takes certain parts of the final two books, but largely ignores everything in them. Not to mention, for plot's sake, I'm moving Draco's birthday from June to July, as well.

Regarding Anthony, Sr., I first broached an idea like this during an RPG I moderated several years ago. ::evil grin::

We'll just have to see what happens, though.

Interlude

It started with a pair of letters. The parchment was very old, undated, tightly furled where it sat in Bobby's palm. It required a Straightening Charm before Bobby was willing to read it for fear of tearing the thin paper. His stomach -- as was usual now -- leaden and tumultuous, Bobby forced himself to focus on the words in Dumbledore's handwriting.

_Dear Robert_, it began, and Bobby felt a small stab of resentment at Dumbledore's presumption of anything beyond the perfunctory. It was irrational, he knew -- letters were generally started with the adjective 'dear', whether the recipient really was or not, but Dumbledore had been born during the age of heightened manual correspondence that the Wizarding World still had not left behind. He knew that the 'dear' was more than implication in Dumbledore's eyes and that fact brought a frown to his face, partially sincere no matter how objectively he tried to view the man's decisions. Dear or not, Bobby hated being used, no matter the situation. For now, though, he concentrated and tried to read.

_If you are holding this letter, then -- indeed -- you have likely discovered your powers and have begun to consciously use them. By now, you have doubtlessly understood you have a far more pronounced control over your magic than most novice magical beings, even with training. It was the same for your father when I found him in London all those many years ago. This has likely meant that your ascent through training has been very rapid, even for someone with prodigious ability. Control is immensely important, you've realized, but not even close to what is done with that power while under such proposed restraint. It is a different matter to be engulfed by possibilities until you forget where boundaries are. Your biological father and I have each been repeatedly entrenched in that lesson, to no avail. It is our mutual lot in life, it would seem, and none more fitting as payment for our like atrocities, purposeful or not._

_It is my deepest regret that I had not the foresight to realize that my flippancy toward his upbringing and behavior warranted far more oversight and care than I afforded him. I ignored any forebodings about possible traits, learned behaviors, or ingrained habits Tom may have carried -- henceforth, I should refer to him by the name on his birth certificate as opposed to any familiar or assumed names as I have no wish to impose upon you neither his nor my feelings on the matter. Thomas Riddle was once a human being in more than simply words and it is largely my wrongdoings that have led to the current events._

_For this and many other missteps, I am truly more sorry than I can express. I failed him. In failing him, I in turn failed you, Anthony, Jr., Harry, Severus, Neville, and so many others I have lost count. All for foolish naivety and an enduring assumption that if he were any real danger to himself or others, I would notice -- other instructors would notice -- intervention could be staged before it was too late. Alas, I failed to see Tom's behavior as anything other than the ruse he had cultivated while in the care of multiple takers while still a very young child. I did not notice that his very pronounced inability to properly foster attachment to or affection for others as anything serious._

_In short, I am a fool. Your family has doubtless paid for my inattention in ways too obvious to simply list. You have most likely endured horrors no man should ever face. It is not an assumption on my part -- it is mere logic. Tom is not capable of treating anyone with the empathy he is so adept at falsifying. It is my deepest hope that the cruelty and malice he holds so deeply within his heart has been spared becoming a part of your reality. This is merely a hope, however, and only a faint one at that._

_Doubtless, if you even know the name Thomas Riddle you understand that maltreatment is a matter of course for him. Without more information, only the name Lord Voldemort (and here I posit that you have already realized that 'I Am Lord Voldemort' is but an anagram) need suffice and a shudder will follow. Further feeling is reserved for the deeper spectrums of human emotion and is likely to mean you have suffered greatly._

_I will spare you my paltry attempts at recompense as they will mean little in the scheme of greater events. There is no apology I can make for the way your life and those around you have played out. It is hoped that even with the knowledge of your true lineage, you have escaped the more obvious traits Tom inherited and cultivated. It is hoped that your life has been one of many delights and knowledge that, above all else, you are loved -- by your mother, even if no one else. You and your older brother mean more to Frances than I have the power to articulate. Furthermore, your adopted father, Anthony, Sr., is not merely afraid of you, but afraid for you. He fears not so much damage to himself for your presence in his home, but the possibility of being forced to watch his entire family, especially one so young as you, slaughtered at the hands of a man who willingly became a monster. He hopes you will not be enslaved by the malignant traditions and practices your mother so bravely left behind._

_This is my hope, as well._

_I have no knowledge of your true relationship with your fathers (either, to be perfectly honest), but interactions with both over the course of these years have left me alternately unsettled and gratified for different reasons. It is not my wish to impress bias of any sort upon you, you must know. It is perfectly reasonable if you do not believe me, as I am time and again reminded by my brother of my more manipulative tendencies even in the name of some unidentifiable 'greater good', but all I can ask for is that you exercise the patience to believe that Anthony wanted to keep you safe. From Tom, from myself, and -- much more successfully -- from himself._

_He did not ever reveal to Frances much about his past. He did not ever tell either of his sons anything about the nature of his work for fear of reprisal from so many sources I would be remiss in even attempting to describe them. It is miraculous that I have knowledge about them at all. It was, however, the deal he struck with me in order to seal the bond that brought you into his home, his life: If he was to be made guardian of so many of my secrets and whatever fallout from them, then I would become steward of his in return. The smile that appeared on his face whenever he used the words, 'turnabout and fair play' remains etched hauntingly in my memory._

_Whatever you may recall of Anthony, he was in truth a devastatingly brilliant man. That he so ably played me right into his hand -- for yours and Anthony, Jr.'s benefit, no less -- still astounds me, not that I intend to sound boastful of my own admittedly vast intelligence. It is simply a gage for understanding the scope of his. I am not sure what effect this information will have upon yourself, your brother, or whomever you decide to tell, but it will doubtless have a great effect on your life -- already so complicated! -- henceforth. I again offer my earnest apologies, in advance._

_The gist of it is that while your father is dead -- he did not lie to you about that, no -- the manner in which he died is not likely anything you will know. That is for that best, I believe._

_He was not unaware of the magical world, even as he was unable to do magic, himself. I believe the mirror department in my own Ministry is the Department of Unspeakables. I am unaware of the name in the Americas, but I am aware that their work is only done in other countries -- that is their mandate, I am told -- and your father's specific gifts for sight of magical auras and such despite having no more magical core than any other Muggle, rather like a Squib, really -- made him a prime target once his abilities were realized. He did not have magical powers, but he was capable of seeing the magical world._

_It is my understanding that your own older brother has inherited this same odd tendency. It is only through your father's diligence that no one has claimed him for their own use. Anthony, Jr., is safe -- your father's cooperation hinged upon it. You are the one, it seems, who will be 'up for grabs', to use your father's rather startlingly appropriate phrase._

_You are half-blooded, magical, capable of wandless magic only dreamed of by most wizards and still largely without understanding even after hundreds of years' research by the Department of Unspeakables and your father's own occupation. It is only your mother's status as a (however disowned) Black that has wielded enough protection against them._

_Tom, however, is another matter. He, himself, became an Unspeakable long before he returned to Hogwarts to attempt to wrest the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts from me. He became one while still a student at Hogwarts. Recruiters from the Ministry were beside themselves when he accepted their offer before even graduating. They did not know, however, that he was only going to use the knowledge he gained there for his own endeavors._

_The Wizarding world would find out what those aims were soon enough._

_It is my hope that while you are doubtless furious with me, we may one day become reconciled in my regret. That is all I could ask for._

_Sincerest Regards,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

Bobby noted the lack of listings of his various ranks and offices and realized this letter was of even more personal import than any others the man had likely written during his tenure as Headmaster. Sighing deeply, he reclined slightly to take in the implications of everything Dumbledore had shared with him, wearily lifting a hand to give the letter to Alex to read, as well. Nick was bent over his own letter across from Bobby, Sara's hand entwined in his over her shoulder. Vacantly, Bobby wondered what Nick's said, but decided he'd rather not know.

"It just keeps getting better and better," Alex remarked sardonically, lowering the letter, herself, and staring at it. Her face showed the same unease that his own probably did.

Bobby was inwardly gratified, though, by the fact that throughout reading the letter, Alex never once let go of his hand. He didn't have the words to express his awe at her continued refusal to toss him to the wayside, but he resolved to let her know in some way as soon as he could without endangering her.

He'd started correspondence with Mulder a short time ago to discuss what had happened to him and what the best way to proceed would be. Scully had written him herself to address, in no uncertain terms, that if Bobby tried to push Alex away from him, Scully would trap him 'in a locked room and let Alex shoot you in your knee caps'. He supposed that her very abrupt declaration, underlined several times for clarity of intent, had done something to rid him of the idea that Alex should be disgusted by him.

He still struggled with the idea of lovemaking or intimacy of most kinds, but Alex had made no attempt of anything like they'd done before they were kidnapped. Bobby was certain her own frustration was mounting, but felt inconceivable gratitude toward her for being so patient with him. That she would never have considered otherwise wasn't something that occurred to him, unfortunately.

As it was, they were now departed from England and all sat on the Muggle plane Dumbledore had used contacts to charter and book, the sunlight outside streaming in through the windows.

Letters for Bobby and Nick had arrived in the living room of their apartment at Hogwarts (now restored to its previous state, the charms lifted in their absence) some time before, catching them each by surprise as they, Alex, Harry, Dudley, and Draco gathered their belongings for the move back to Privet Drive and, then, to New York. Bobby and Alex had spoken at length with Captain Deakins that morning, having (fortunately or not) caught him out during a case.

The details of Bobby's re-assimilation back into the Major Case Squad would wait for their return. For now, Captain Deakins had secured through Carver proper documents for Harry and Draco's naturalization in the Muggle American world, including passports applications -- all of which had been processed over the previous week, doubly expedited by magic.

Dumbledore had been handling their transition through the Magical world, petitioning for the legal emancipation of Harry and Draco (neither knew that Bobby had demanded it above all else, threatening to bring damages against Dumbledore for neglect, reckless endangerment, and countless other 'crimes of passion' -- an otherwise laughable designation, albeit appropriate in Dumbledore's case), and Dudley, who would have been privy to his mother's whims otherwise. Harry and Dudley's testimony of their childhood in Surrey, via a Dicta-Quill, was taken by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and likewise delivered by Muggle means of transcription for the magical liaison in the London Police Department, where Vernon Dursley had been detained.

Dudley had been spared legal punishment on Harry's behalf, Harry having firmly decided not to press charges against him given that he meet certain community service demands over the coming years. Dudley had wordlessly accepted his fate, believing he'd gotten off rather light considering the proof of what he'd done.

Petunia Dursley had been sentenced in closed-circuit court to twenty years probation, her husband likewise receiving twenty years to life in prison for several charges each of nearly everything Bobby had threatened Dumbledore with. It was little reimbursement for Harry's suffering and Dudley's inadequate preparation for life, but it was something.

Frances had been put up in the Hospital Wing while she recuperated from the years of torment and psychological abuse at the hands of various Death Eaters and Voldemort. Bobby and Nick met with Sara and herself to decide what they would do next, eventually deciding to move both her and Bobby into the Black residence in Troy, New York, which Bobby remembered as the residence of Joy Brody, Lance Brody's sister, and wondered aloud if they'd ever run into one another again.

The house, itself, was another mystery. It wasn't under the Fidelus Charm as the London House of Black had been, but none knew what sort of disrepair it may have fallen into in intervening years. Frances recalled House Elves being in charge of upkeep, but very plainly couldn't say whether they'd survived or not.

As it was, there had been a lot of dashing around this morning as Harry and Ron did their usual last-minute roundup of their belongings and they and Hermione snuck off somewhere to say their goodbyes.

Now they were all on a trans-Atlantic flght, minus Dudley, who swore he would owl Bobby for help if he needed anything at all. The letters had first been considered a way to pass the time, but now Bobby and Nick were definitely wishing they'd read them before leaving Britain. After seeing what they contained, they'd been forced to hold any conversations they wanted to have with Dumbledore until the Floo-Network at Black House (Bobby was trying to think of a new name for it, but had yet to come up with one) could be restored.

There had been definite heightening of already tense feelings once the content of the letters had been taken in. Without thinking, Nick had reached across the divide of their first-class seats and gathered Bobby in a hug. Bobby had frozen, immediately employing many of the relaxation techniques Snape had recently taught him in order to control his Occlumency and slowly was able to relax. He wouldn't let Nick apologize after they parted as, despite his own deep misgivings and the past that still lay between them, he'd come to appreciate his brother's presence and missed being able to hug him. Nick fought back tears and a smile as Bobby returned the hug after a moment, unaccountably glad his little brother was seeking comfort from him for the first time in his memory.

Draco, who was sitting next to Bobby, watched the pair with fascination. He, Harry, and Dudley had come to view one another without antagonism, but he doubted they'd ever achieve such closeness that body contact would ever be anything other than suspect. Beside him, he knew Harry was attempting to bury himself in one of the books Sirius and Lupin had given him the previous Christmas. He'd known Harry closely enough now to realize that this was both Harry's way of trying to give Bobby and Nick a sort of privacy as well as covering up his own awkwardness with such behavior.

It had never occurred to Draco before, but he and Harry were far more alike than he'd ever allowed himself to think. He was different now, though, and conceded that growth had taken place whether he'd known it or not. It was no longer unthinkable to consider Harry Potter something of a friend, nor to ask for help from anyone (especially Professor Snape, who had worked so hard to keep him from sliding into the trappings of Dark Magic as he had). It was no longer inconceivable to believe that he could be cared about, that he could return those feelings without ridicule.

None of them knew what was coming, but given what had already happened, none of them allowed themselves to sink into any deceptive calm.

Still, they could -- they would, live.

_Three weeks later..._

Bobby still wanted to change the name, but figured the Bat Cave would be a problem due to licensing agreements and such. It was difficult not to feel like various flying rodents and insects wouldn't come bursting out of any random doors of the vast underground mansion his mother had inherited despite being formally disowned.

Blood accounted for a lot, it seemed, as Frances Goren hadn't been killed by any of the so-called 'defensive' spells her father had layered the house with (she and Draco had shared a look of morbid understanding after her explanation and his additions describing Malfoy Mansion's own malicious spellwork) in efforts to deter Muggles from visiting or entering. With her help, Bobby had disabled most of the more lethal curses and reworked many to exclude specific non-magical people who would have universal clearance. So far, that list only included Alex and Sara but it would most likely grow.

He understood, however, why no secrecy charms had been used on the location. Given that the house was actually composed of many interlocked rooms under the city of Troy, itself, with its entrance more or less completely invisible if you didn't know where to look, it was highly unlikely that anyone non-magical would have ever been able to find it. Harry remarked that it was like the Ministry of Magic, in London, which was also underground. As it was, Frances had pointed out very specifically that it was much like the Leaky Cauldron in that the small dwelling that sat on the edge of the actual property was almost completely ignored by Muggle passerby.

Frances Goren had improved greatly from her previous state, now almost completely recovered. She no longer suffered hallucinations or any other symptoms of schizophrenia or most other signs of trauma and was extremely adept at recognizing them in Bobby, calming him down when Alex was unavailable in the interim.

This came in handy after Alex's return to work, which was staged several days ahead of Bobby's own. Her return to her own apartment in the city was marked by Bobby's being almost inconsolable the first night, who supposed afterward that it had probably been pretty rough on her, as well, as she'd gotten used to having him nearby.

In addition to the overwhelming sensory overload after being part-werewolf in the relatively isolated Scottish Highlands for more than a month, the added despair of not being near Alex for the first time since his ordeal made for a terrifying night. Sara, Nick, and Aaron's room had been warded in advance with sound-proofing charms so as to afford Aaron a continued good night's sleep, but Harry and Draco both still found themselves in the kitchen, desperately assembling complicated midnight snacks to attempt to distract themselves from Bobby's screams.

The next morning, a very haggard Frances emerged to gather something like a breakfast for Bobby to attempt to eat once the anti-emetic potions he and Snape had brewed together took effect. No one commented on the tears she shed or the way her hands shook, causing her to drop a large jug of milk toward the floor. Harry arrested the jug's descent, levitating it back to the kitchen counter, and Frances favored him with a watery smile of thanks.

By the end of the first week, it was determined that Bobby couldn't stay in this house without Alex and he was picked up by her and driven in her own car back to his apartment in Brooklyn.

When he slept nearly soundly the moment he was in her presence again (especially in comparison to his previous outbursts), it was decided that Bobby and Alex would move into his apartment for the time being until their transfers out of Major Case were finalized and they were officially "hired" by the Compound in Washington. It was unspoken that Mulder would aid Bobby's recovery once the move was finalized.

But it was odd, jarring really, figuring out the mechanics of life in this odd house once they were again settled. The House Elves had been ecstatic in their greetings of 'Mistress Frances', whom they hadn't seen in decades. The oldest had been one of those who had cared for her as a child and positively wept to see her again. Dobby, Winky, and Kreacher were asked over from England through Harry's call and it had calmed Kreacher somewhat to be back in a house of his dearest Masters, even if it wasn't the ones he preferred.

Bobby, despite no vast liking of Kreacher at first, had become fascinated by his allegiance to the mysterious Regulus Black and had finally managed to get the story of what happened the night he died out of the wretched elf, who then collapsed into paroxysms of grief after finally revealing his most guarded secret.

Bobby had waited until Kreacher had calmed back down before looking to his mother for something, any Black heirloom that she'd be happy to part with, finally settling on an old set of robes her father had owned. Kreacher had thrown himself into a very low bow, cradling the velvet cloth against his thin, bony chest, thanking Frances most profusely. He lost control again when Harry and Bobby presented him with his own small niche in the kitchens, noting that he seemed to enjoy working in them most of all. The bundle of robes were folded neatly and placed in the cubby-hole for Kreacher to sleep upon.

Kreacher's behavior completely reversed whereas before, Draco had been the only Black family member Kreacher had been willing to address with any respect (also severely curtailed after it became obvious his name had been blasted off the family tree), now he afforded everyone with general courtesy, even Alex, Sara, and Nick once Bobby had forbidden him to call them derogatory names.

Bobby explained that Nick was his master in blood, if not name, and no House Elf would continue to work for them if they couldn't behave themselves in a dignified manner. Kreacher insulted himself, Bobby explained, acting so boisterously when Nick had just as much right to this house as Frances, Bobby, Harry, and Draco did. Nick had been rightly surprised when Kreacher addressed him as 'Master Anthony' and told him to remove his shoes before dinner, afterward jogging off looking cleaner and happier than Harry had ever seen him.

Dobby was assigned to helping Bobby and Harry organize the library and rid it of all Dark Magic tomes. These were burnt in the massive fireplace along one wall, with those that resisted the flames destroyed by Dobby on Harry's command. After the job was finished, Harry ordered three dozen pairs of the most obnoxiously patterned socks he could find anywhere and had them delivered to Dobby, whose gratitude was sung for days afterward.

Winky was assigned to helping with Aaron's care, following Nick and Sara when they went back to White Plains so both could finally resume their jobs. It was rather odd, how quickly she stopped pining for the Crouches once she had a family to take care of again, but her overall upswing in demeanor -- like Kreacher's -- was only celebrated, not reflected upon for long.

Harry and Draco's birthdays at the end of July were celebrated lavishly (indeed, Dobby went rather overboard with the decorations and had to be directed by a chuckling Bobby to tone them down a bit) at the end of the summer, with gifts delivered to and from Neville, as well. The party, itself, was a private affair -- the only guests from Britain were Lupin and the Tonks family -- with many Muggle attributes in addition to magical. Draco had gotten used to more and more Muggle customs over the previous months and accepted the gift of a Playstation 2 without much bafflement.

Harry was almost astonished when the end of the summer came and it was time to return to Hogwarts. This summer had been both the longest and fastest of his life, with more changes over mere weeks than he'd've previously thought possible. He admitted to being reluctant about returning to Hogwarts to Bobby and Alex the day before they were to take a Portkey back to London so Harry and Draco could board the train. The time difference meant that they would be departing at least twelve hours early so all forwent going to bed in favor of sleeping after the boys were dropped off.

It was the first time Harry, Draco, and a returning Dudley (noticeably without Petunia's presence, though his attitude hadn't seemed to suffer) boarded the train with people who were genuinely sorry to see all of them departing and bothered to tell them so.

Harry smiled at the typical Weasley crunch as Fred and George joined their parents in sending Ron and Ginny off once more. It seemed that their request to be re-Sorted had been granted, as they explained to a mildly surprised Bobby, who seemed to again be deep in thought. What about, though, he didn't find out as the train began it's journey before he could ask. Sighing, Harry sat back in his, Hermione's, and Ron's compartment and pulled out another book. He had plenty of chances to ask in the post, after all.


End file.
